


A Long Lost Cause

by MarianneGreenleaf



Series: Building a History Together: Marriage and Children [18]
Category: Music Man - All Media Types, The Music Man (1962), The Music Man - All Media Types, The Music Man - Willson
Genre: Becoming The Mask, Charming Victorian, Cornfield outside of town, Dancing together, Defrosting Ice Queen, Emotional Baggage, Epilogue jumps ahead, F/M, Falling In Love, Fluff with depth, Harold's insomnia, Holiday squee, Hotel Sex, Insatiable Newlyweds, Intimacy, Ladykiller In Love, Library Shenanigans, Love Confessions, Love Epiphany, Missing Scene, Morning Cuddles, Morning Sex, Music room rendezvous, Outdoor Mischief, Pillow Talk, Pre-Relationship, River City High Gymnasium, Sexual Tension, Spooning, Still a conman, Strolling together, Trysting in dreams, Wooing on the Paroo front porch, smexytimes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-23
Updated: 2012-09-23
Packaged: 2017-11-14 21:20:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 26,752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/519624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarianneGreenleaf/pseuds/MarianneGreenleaf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's nothing Harold Hill loves better than a good con - especially when it involves a pretty woman. Now, if only he could get a handle on those pesky dreams he keeps having about River City's lovely librarian...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue: Caught in the Door

**Author's Note:**

> DISCLAIMER: I don’t own anything, least of all the excerpts I’ve quoted from the show, movie, song lyrics, or Meredith Willson’s novelization of The Music Man.

_It’s a long lost cause I can never win_  
 _For the civilized world accepts as unforgivable sin_  
 _Any talking out loud with any librarian_  
 _Such as Marian… Madam Librarian._

Marian looked pleadingly at Harold. “You’ve got to go, Harold – please.”

Winthrop dropped his head. “Go on, Profethor, hurry up.”

“I can’t go, Winthrop,” he said looking straight at Marian.

“Why not?”

Harold and Marian both heard the yelling approach of the returning mob, heard Marcellus cry out loudly and clearly, “Greg, they’re coming! Run – run!” The Professor still might have taken to the back-yards and made his getaway, but he stayed where he was and calmly answered Winthrop’s question, as though he had all the time in the world.

“I can’t go,” Harold said, “because for the first time in my life, I got my foot caught in the door.” He drew Marian into his arms. “There was love all around – but I never heard it singing… No, I never heard it at all – till there was you.”

In a moment, he was surrounded on all sides, Charlie Cowell in the lead, Constable Locke close behind, stomping toward him, snapping the handcuffs off his belt.

_~The Music Man by Meredith Willson, page 134_

XXX

If it weren’t for the handcuffs chafing his wrists, Professor Harold Hill, bandleader not-so-extraordinaire, could almost have pretended there was nothing unusual about the situation in which he’d found himself on this beautiful midsummer evening. For once again, he was smack-dab in the center of a flurry of activity. Only this time, he wasn’t the master puppeteer pulling all the right strings that got the crowd to bend to his will. Instead, he was being buoyed along by a throng of angry men, trapped in their iron grasp and forced to proceed whether he wanted to or not, like the fallen branch of a mighty oak caught in in a raging river.

The sensation of rushing inexorably toward his own doom was something Harold had only experienced a handful of times during his long and ill-spent life, and it was the only circumstance in which he’d ever felt real fear churning in the pit of his stomach. Fortunately, the spell-binding cymbal salesman – as Mayor Shinn was so fond of calling him – had long ago learned that there were times when his silver tongue would only make things worse, so he wisely kept quiet as Constable Locke and his posse hustled him along the town’s broadly paved and well-lit streets.

But however painful or disfiguring the punishment the mob ended up meting out in the name of justice, Harold refused to give them the satisfaction of seeing his spirit break – even if, he ruefully reflected, he deserved exactly what he was going to get. If he could bite back his howls of pain when the enraged Appalachians poured boiling tar over his forearm, if he could stanch his tears of agony when the infuriated Tennesseans pressed a white-hot branding iron into his shoulder, he could surely endure whatever it was the River City-ziens decided to do to him. But it was best not to think too much about the future, as his knees were beginning to wobble alarmingly and threatened to give out beneath him, should he continue his contemplations in this disquieting vein. No, Harold Hill was firmly resolved to do as he had always done: steel his formidable resolve, take each moment as it came, and outlast his adversaries through brazen endurance.

“Profethor Hill!” Winthrop’s tearful voice called out.

 _Don’t look_ , his mind sternly admonished. _You’ll never get through this if you do._

“Profethor – please!” the boy cried plaintively, sounding so much like his older sister when she’d begged him to leave town without delay, that Harold _had_ to look. Indeed, Winthrop was racing after him with an expression that was both panicked and heartbroken. This tableau would have been heart-wrenching enough on its own, but it was made ten times worse by the stunning sight of Marian, Mrs. Paroo and Marcellus Washburn all trailing along behind the boy, their countenances equally as distraught as they gazed upon their fallen music professor. At this unexpected outpouring of hysterical concern on his behalf, Harold’s knees _did_ give out, and he sagged helplessly in the arms of his imprisoners.

Winthrop burst into tears. “Harold!”

Inwardly cursing himself for losing his composure like that, Harold called out in as harsh a tone as he could muster, even as the men jostled him roughly about until he was standing upright again, “Marcellus – take the boy home! Take Marian and Mrs. Paroo with you, as well – ”

“Quiet, you!” The man to his right elbowed him in the side. Fortunately, the blow was too soft to make him keel over again, but it was definitely hard enough to knock the wind out of him and render further speech impossible. As Harold struggled to regain his breath, he was dimly aware of a boyish howl of indignation, followed by a brief scuffle and then a sharp, surprised masculine grunt.

“Winthrop!” Marian cried, aghast.

As boyish footsteps skittered over the pavement, Mrs. Paroo’s scolding voice rang out, “Winthrop, you march back here right this instant and apologize to Mr. Washburn for kicking him in the shin!”

“No, leave him be, Ma’am,” Marcellus said, wearily but understandingly. “The poor kid’s had a rough enough evening, as it is… ”

Mrs. Paroo began to protest, but her voice faded out of earshot fast as Harold was pushed relentlessly forward. Although the silence continued to stretch and the disgraced conman was reasonably sure he was no longer being followed, he hazarded a glance over his shoulder.

He got only a brief glimpse, but it was enough: Marian was still hastening after him in a most unladylike fashion, her skirts tightly clenched in her hands, her cheeks flushed crimson with exertion as she ran. Yet she remained heedless of the damage she was causing to both her newly repaired reputation and her physical well-being; her gaze was fixed squarely on him, her eyes burning with the fierce determination of a woman who refused to let go of the man she loved. Just as he had sacrificed his last chance of escape, she was willing to pay any price to stay by his side, for however brief a time they could manage to be together.

But he had to make her let him go; Harold wouldn’t allow the River City-ziens to break her spirit as well. Marshaling the last of his strength, the erstwhile music professor broke free of his captors’ grip and whirled around to tell off the most wonderfully, infuriatingly tenacious woman he’d ever met in his life. This was not a fairytale and there could be no happy ending for them; it would be a lot better for her if she despised him as much as everyone else in River City presently did.

However, Harold’s voice caught in his throat when he spied not just Marian following him, but Mrs. Paroo and Marcellus, as well. He would have thought they’d be rushing after Winthrop by now, but they’d left the boy to his own devices and resumed their worried pursuit of him, instead. Abandoned a hurt, innocent child – a child _he_ had wounded with his glittering lies and empty promises – in favor of a dirty, rotten crook who’d shamelessly stolen every last cent he could wheedle out of their boodle bags! It was too much.

Before he could shout at his foolish but stalwart supporters to leave him be, he was seized, turned around and dragged onward. However, Harold was determined to have his way in at least this small matter, and stubbornly attempted, once again, to face the trio trailing behind him. Unsurprisingly, the mob of men surrounding him refused to countenance his continued lack of cooperation: No sooner than he’d swiveled his neck, several pairs of hands instantly clamped down on his head, mussing his carefully coifed tresses and forcing him to face front again.

Giving up at last, Harold let Constable Locke and his posse lead him along without further fuss. Although he wanted nothing more than to make Marcellus take Marian home and keep her there until this unpleasantness was all over and he was ridden out of town on a rail, he reflected that perhaps it was better that he wasn’t allowed to speak. Because even if he could have mustered up the nerve to loudly denounce the woman he inconveniently but inexorably loved more than his own freedom, his outburst would probably have only firmed the librarian’s obstinate resolve to stick by him to the bitter end.

Although these stiff-necked Hawkeyes struck Harold as a bit less barbaric than the denizens of the Appalachian backwoods, even in the midst of their (admittedly well-deserved) anger, this was going to be one of the hardest trials the conman ever had to endure. Not only did he have the unsettling prospect of gaining yet another permanent (but again, well-deserved) scar from whatever physical punishment was in store for him, he would have to henceforth live with the knowledge that Marian’s final memories of him would be ones of agony as she witnessed his pain and humiliation. Perhaps Winthrop was right – perhaps he never should have come to River City.

Yet selfishly, Harold couldn’t regret the one and only sublime, untainted and _true_ love he’d unexpectedly discovered, however little he deserved the lovely librarian’s fair regard. Not even his long-dormant conscience, which had fully reawakened to hector him with a vengeance the moment his lips first touched Marian’s, could make the chastened conman wish that the beautiful and indomitable Marian Paroo had never come into his life, invading his very dreams in a way no woman ever had before, and doing so long before he realized he was in love with her…


	2. First Dream: Sincere

It wasn’t long before Harold had caught up to the librarian. “I don’t suppose you live alone or anything…”

Miss Paroo avoided him with her easy grace. “No.”

“I have some wonderful caramels over at the hotel…”

He saw by the aghast look on her face that he had been a little too forward. “Mr. Hill!” she exclaimed, scandalized.

“Oh – please, please…” Harold contritely removed his hat. Had Miss Paroo’s expression softened one iota, he would have invited her to address him by his Christian name. Since she merely surveyed him with a cold look, he grinned and said, “ _Professor_ Hill.”

She did not even hesitate in her response. “Professor? Of what?”

Harold was amazed – and slightly disappointed, if truth be told – that his admonishment did not produce the desired effect of disconcertment. Most women would have been thrown off balance by such a ploy, but now it was Harold who struggled to regain his footing. He raised a hand and started to speak, but she blustered on. “At what college do they give a degree for accosting women like a Saturday-night rowdy at a public dance hall?”

Again, Harold couldn’t help but admire Miss Paroo’s tenacity. There were not many people – let alone women – who could keep such a clear head around him when he turned on the charm. Yet she stood there, haughty as a queen, and denounced him with blazing eyes.

_~Falling in Love by Marianne Greenleaf, chapter 5: Sincere, Part 2_

XXX

Even in his dreams – or what little he could remember of them – the charlatan who called himself Professor Harold Hill was always in motion. When he was a boy, he used to have terrible nightmares… but they weren’t anything worth remembering. As Daniel Kaczmarek cum Gregory Granger cum Harold Hill (or whatever other alias best suited his purposes at the time) had gotten deeper into the conman’s way of life, his bad dreams ceased. This mental state of affairs caused Harold both relief and amusement, as he’d figured the worse he did, the guiltier his conscience would become. Instead, he only ever dreamed about trains, whether he was rushing to catch one, gazing serenely at the landscape as it flashed by, or disembarking somewhere he’d never been before. Even on his first night in River City’s boarding house, Harold had dreamed of breezily riding the rails.

However, the second time he laid his head down on a bed at the boarding house, after a long and exhilarating day of capturing the imaginations of the simple country folk, influencing the school board to form an impromptu barbershop quartet, and attempting to woo the gorgeous but far-too-suspicious-for-his-comfort librarian, the conman’s dreams took a marked change of pace.

At first, Harold didn’t even realize he was dreaming, the events were so mundane. He’d drifted off to sleep mulling over his two encounters with Marian Paroo, reviewing every detail of their brief but charged interactions to see if he could ferret out any chinks in the maiden-lady librarian’s seemingly impenetrable armor. Every woman had, if not a heart, a weakness, and it was just a matter of finding the right opening and worming his way into it. But as midnight approached and he’d gotten absolutely nowhere new in his insights, Harold had to hand it to Miss Paroo – she was a true enigma. While her remarks had been brusque to the point of incivility – no matter how accurate her assessments of his character and competency – there was a definite passion in her demeanor that indicated she was anything but the frigid, humorless spinster Marcellus had warned him about. Marian Paroo might not be so easily swayed by flattery or even kisses, but if Harold could find a way to turn that stubborn sense of conviction of hers in his favor, he’d face no further obstacles to the success of his latest scheme.

But perhaps he wouldn’t have to work so hard to win over the mistrusting librarian as he thought. A few minutes after the clock in Harold’s hotel room chimed midnight, he was startled from his doze by a furtive but decisive knock on the door. His curiosity piqued, the conman leaped to his feet and threw on his suit-coat (he’d been too preoccupied to strip down to his scanties earlier, and simply laid down on the bed after tossing his jacket on a nearby chair) before opening the door.

Wearing the same enchanting, light-blue gown trimmed with white lace that she had on during the fireworks display in Madison Picnic Park, Marian Paroo stood before him. “I don’t suppose you’re alone right now, or anything,” she said, arching a perfectly manicured eyebrow at him.

Harold could only gape at her. With a knowing smile, as if she’d expected his shocked reaction, the librarian boldly stepped over the threshold and closed the door behind her. “I’ve come for those caramels you offered.”

Marian was standing very close to him now, close enough for the conman to breathe in the faint but beguiling scent of lavender. Although her deliciously throaty, come-hither voice made Harold want to reach out and pull her to him without preamble, he managed to recover enough presence of mind to play the honest – but attracted – gentleman. “It’s a pleasure to see you, Miss Paroo, as always,” he declaimed, giving her a bewildered smile that was surprisingly genuine – though not for the reason she might have thought. “But you must forgive my reticence; you’re the last person I expected to see at such a late hour, especially after my overtures were so roundly rejected earlier!”

Marian simply rolled her eyes at this gallantry. “In a small town where everyone knows everyone else’s business, a lady always has to be on guard when it comes to her behavior in public. Just think of what the gossipmongers would say if I actually flirted with you in return!” She paused, and regarded him with a reproving smile. “You are not exactly the soul of discretion, Mr. Hill. How else could any woman in my position have responded to your loud proposition?”

Instead of feeling shamed, Harold had to repress a grin. No wonder he hadn’t been able to make heads or tails of the librarian’s maiden-lady façade! He’d completely underestimated Marian Paroo’s character; her harsh refusals of his overtures were not borne of repulsion, but were an impeccable act designed to preserve her reputation. And it was such a good act that it had stymied _him_ ; she must have had a lot of practice engaging in clandestine affairs before the two of them crossed paths. This idea both excited and alarmed the conman. As thrilled as Harold was by the impending tryst he now had to look forward to, he wasn’t going to fall too easily into Marian’s arms. Although he was getting exactly what he wanted, it was imperative that he proceed with even more care than before. While River City’s cynical librarian had proven susceptible to his charms after all, she was disturbingly perceptive as to his true nature, and would make a formidable adversary if he ever got on her bad side.

“Ah, yes,” Harold conceded ruefully. “You must forgive me for my enthusiasm; I was completely entranced by your loveliness. I ought to have been a bit more careful, I know.”

His silver tongue had once again worked its magic; Marian regarded him with a relieved smile. “Yes, in public, I must always behave as if I despise you.” Her smile turned sly again, and she extended her hand to him. “But behind closed doors, I will happily share in the sweets you offered… ”

Still determined to play things a bit cool even as his heart began to race, Harold took that slender hand and brought it to his lips. “Say now,” he purred noncommittally as he kissed her fingers… and then proceeded to draw the tips of them into his mouth, one by one, gently caressing each of them with his tongue. When he progressed to nibbling, Marian’s eyes fluttered shut and she shivered. At that, the fly-by-night salesman smiled and immediately withdrew, having to suppress a delighted shudder of his own when the librarian let out a wistful sigh. He had her right where he wanted her. Now it was time to close the deal.

“I’m sorry to have to tell you this, my dear little librarian,” Harold said as he lowered her hand (though he kept it firmly in his grasp), “but I was so disappointed by your refusal earlier that I ended up coming back here and eating those caramels all by my lonesome.”

He expected the librarian to laugh and issue a saucy retort, but instead, her expression grew disappointed and she stuck her bottom lip out in the most charming pout. Marian’s reaction was both interesting and unexpected; apparently, she retained a soupçon of guilelessness beneath her wary exterior. There was not enough credulity there for the conman to fool her outright, but there was just enough small-town innocence for his teasing to get a genuine rise out of her. This tryst promised to be even more enjoyable than he’d already bargained for; indeed, making love to River City’s librarian was going to be the most fun that Harold had had in quite a long time.

Giving Marian a smoldering smile, he leaned in and whispered in a voice heavy with suggestive meaning, “Well, I might have a few delectable treats remaining for consumption, but I’m going to need a little convincing to share them with you… ”

Marian backed away, but he wasn’t worried she was offended, as that sly smile was lighting up her face once more. Keeping her eyes trained on his, she began to undress in his presence. The librarian truly knew how to display her feminine wares to their finest; Harold felt beads of sweat forming on his forehead as she slowly but adroitly divested herself of her gown, boots, stockings and the many other layers of clothing propriety demanded for a lady of her station. Once Marian was down to nothing but her camisole and drawers, she paused to unpin her hair, letting it tumble down around her shoulders in a mass of gold. Clearly, she _was_ practiced at the art of seduction.

But then again, so was he. “Mmm, Madam Librarian,” Harold said in a low moan as he eyed her soft curves, “you put Botticelli’s Venus to shame.” It was exactly what he would have said to any female who was the target of his con, but for once, his admiration was entirely genuine. Marian Paroo was already a gorgeous woman in her own right, and when she was wearing hardly anything at all, she was one of the most scrumptious women he’d ever seen.

It was charming – sweet, even – to see the wonderful way the librarian’s face lit up at his compliment. Harold would have expected a woman as experienced as Marian to laugh dismissively or even roll her eyes. Surely, he couldn’t have been the only one of her paramours to pay her such grand compliments! Perhaps the librarian was not so coldly calculating a lover as she liked to pretend. Perhaps there was real depth of feeling there, which would only add to his advantage.

Deciding to test this theory and see if he could knock her even further off balance, Harold swiftly changed tactics. Arranging his features into a mask of discontent, he added, “But lovely as you are, my dear, it’s going to take a little more convincing than that… ”

At that, Marian did laugh. “Patience,” she said primly. “I’m simply making myself a bit more comfortable. I’ll be attending to you in a moment, Mr. Hill.”

 _Not so unbalanced, after all_ , Harold reflected with a wry grin. But despite his miscalculation, it was still a delightful game they were playing. If possible, he was even more turned on by the fact that the librarian wasn’t an easy woman, not even when she’d been so brazen as to seek him out in his hotel room this late at night. However, it was time he evened the score, lest she get the upper hand on him.

“Ah, ah,” Harold chided, wagging a finger at her. “It’s _Professor_ Hill.”

Marian smirked at him. “Very well, then, if you insist – _Professor_.”

Once the librarian had finished letting down her hair, she came over to him and, moving gently but without maidenly hesitancy, divested him of his suit-coat, dress shirt and undershirt. Kissing her way down to his waist, she knelt on the floor and unfastened his trousers. Knowing that nothing he could say would diminish the obvious evidence of how hard he already was for her, Harold let Marian’s delighted gasp and subsequent triumphant grin pass unremarked when she caught sight of his arousal. And when she took him in her mouth, he further capitulated, letting out a loud groan and clutching at her shoulders as she pleasured him with warm, wet, skillful caresses. He ought to have known the librarian would be just as brilliant with that mouth of hers when she _wasn’t_ talking to a man.

But as much as Harold wanted to see how far she was willing to go in her efforts to persuade him, he was losing too much of his self-control to allow her to continue making this particular argument. Tightening his grasp on her shoulders, he brought her to a halt and backed out of her embrace.

Marian looked both petulant and uncertain, which he found strangely endearing. “What’s the matter?” she gasped. “Doesn’t this _convince_ you?”

“Oh, it’s _very_ convincing,” Harold admitted, smiling as he tried to master his own unsteady breathing. “In fact, you’ve more than convinced me to share my sweets with you… ”

Tugging the librarian to her feet, he hastily shucked off her camisole and drawers and then kicked off his trousers and BVDs, which were presently bunched somewhere down around his ankles. Once they were both completely unclothed, he whisked her to the bed and laid her supine upon it. Pausing briefly to take in the luscious banquet before him – and noting with fierce delight how avidly she gazed at him in return – he started to position himself over her. Harold would have entered her right then and there, but even in the haze of his desire he maintained a small shred of rationality, and quickly realized that it was still too soon to consummate their affair. Before they went beyond the point of no return, the conman needed to firmly establish – in his mind as well as Marian’s – that despite the sincere, keen longing she aroused in him, he was the one in control of this tryst, the one who would ultimately set the pace for their lovemaking now and in the future.

So even as a groan escaped Harold’s lips and his body surged involuntarily forward when the librarian eagerly wrapped her legs around his hips, he craned his head and concentrated his ministrations entirely on her breasts until she was gasping and then wailing helplessly beneath his touch. Pleased but still not completely convinced that he’d made his point, the fly-by-night salesman moved his mouth down to the softness between Marian’s thighs, giving her shallow but tantalizing kisses that made her squirm and writhe against him all the more.

“Professor Hill – _please_ ,” she pleaded.

Harold closed his eyes in sheer pleasure. It was music to his ears; the most beautiful sound in the world was a gorgeous woman begging for him to make love to her.

However, though he was fast nearing the end of his restraint, he did not give in just yet. “What was that, my dear little librarian?” he asked in a husky lover’s whisper.

“Make love to me,” Marian moaned, utterly at his mercy.

With another groan, Harold covered her body with his and plunged into her. As he suspected, she was warm, welcoming, and yielded easily to his thrusts. Delighted that he did not have to be as gentle as he would with a maid or even a less-experienced woman, he immediately set a vigorous tempo for them both, and was even further delighted by how adeptly the librarian kept pace with him. Marian Paroo truly was a hidden gem; even married women in small towns tended to be far less creative and knowledgeable lovers than gals in the city, either lying almost completely still or meticulously mirroring a fellow’s every thrust. But the librarian knew exactly how to move beneath a man; her hips gyrated against his with both confidence and fervor and, far too soon for his liking, Harold found himself in danger of going completely over the edge.

But the approaching end of the festivities didn’t bother him too much; he was just getting started with his scheme and still had several more weeks to look forward to in River City. That should give him all the time he needed to couple with the librarian to his heart’s content before happily moving on to the next con, the next gal to warm his bed. Whenever they met in public, Miss Paroo would continue to coldly rebuff him, which promised to add a novel and enjoyable twist to their liaison, as her aloofness would keep him from getting bored too quickly. Harold would have to win over the “maiden-lady” librarian every time he wanted to make love to her – and he could even wheedle her into doing some of the work, by pretending to be sore at her snubs whenever they did meet in private. Yes, this was definitely a tryst he would remember for quite some time down the road.

After Harold had finished and they both lay gasping for breath in each other’s arms, he was suddenly struck by the odd thought that he hadn’t kissed Marian yet, not even one, honest-to-goodness, quick peck on her lips. While the charlatan was never really one for such old-fashioned romance, he did enjoy a good kiss or two, every now and then. Before the librarian left his room tonight, he would make sure to schedule a clandestine canoodling session at River City’s footbridge – where he looked forward to exploring her talents in that arena, as well.

XXX

Although Harold jolted awake with a broad grin lighting up his face, his delight was soon tempered by the realization that his heated tryst with River City’s maiden-lady librarian had taken place wholly in the confines of his own mind. His bedclothes lay undisturbed beneath him, he was still almost fully dressed, and Marian Paroo remained just as standoffish, inscrutable and unattainable as she had when she marched angrily away from him the night before.

But not for long. Although dawn wasn’t due to arrive for another hour or two, the conman leaped out of bed, changed into a fresh suit, and started pacing the length of the room. The tranquil stillness of early morning was a wonderful time for plotting plots, scheming schemes, or even just indulging in idle reveries. Some of the conman’s best ideas had come to him during these periods of uninterrupted solitude, and as he recalled the false but enticing tableau of Marian writhing and mewling beneath him, Harold Hill was even more determined that this was one dream that would soon be fulfilled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It was an interesting and amusing challenge, writing Marian so out of character! But little does our charming conman realize just what he’s gotten himself into with River City’s maiden-lady librarian…


	3. Second Dream: Marian the Librarian

“Now in the moonlight, a man could sing it…” Harold glanced to his left and saw Zaneeta and Tommy grinning at him over the cover of _Romeo and Juliet_. He immediately motioned for them to disappear behind their book. Though Harold usually gloried in the attention of an audience, seduction was one instance he preferred privacy.

“In the moonlight” – he gently lifted Marian’s downcast face until their eyes had locked – “And a fellow would know that his darling had heard every word of his song, with the moonlight helping along…”

The ice in Marian’s eyes melted and her beautiful features softened into the dreamy expression of infatuation Harold knew all too well. He had won over Marian Paroo at last! Perhaps the smart thing to do would have been to back down and leave her wanting more, but Harold was so eager to claim his prize he leaned in to plant a kiss on her waiting mouth.

But just before their lips met, Marian backed away in horror.

_~Falling in Love by Marianne Greenleaf, chapter 6: Marian the Librarian_

XXX

Harold Hill had mastered the art of the brazen steal during his long tenure as a fraudulent, fly-by-night salesman, but he certainly wasn’t used to snatching his kisses in such a bald-faced manner. Though he was not averse to bending his principles to suit the situation, he considered it a point of masculine pride to always remain the suave and detached suitor, even as he plied his would-be paramours with ardent flattery. While loudly declaring love for Marian Paroo in the middle of a crowded library might have appeared to be a blatant violation of these dearly held tenets, it was anything but an act of desperation of Harold’s part. His outrageous behavior was not borne of frustrated longing, it was a crafty calculation designed to shatter the glacial poise of River City’s seemingly unflappable librarian.

And it had worked beautifully. Even though Miss Paroo no doubt despised him even more after his latest stunt, Harold had succeeded in the very thing he’d initially set out to do: He’d finally knocked the “maiden-lady” librarian off her pedestal of self-righteous superiority. For as fond as Marian Paroo was of setting herself up as a paragon of virtue, her previous dalliance with the town’s generous but unpopular benefactor proved she was not quite so averse as she pretended to be to the sort illicit hanky-panky Harold had in mind. Not only that, he had teased out a small but genuine attraction to him beneath her icy façade; if she truly loathed him with every fiber of her being, she would never have gazed at him with such a dreamy smile, or allowed his lips to get within a hairsbreadth of hers… even if she did duck out of his embrace at the last second.

Of course, the conman’s sheer persistence and relentless charm could only take him so far at this early juncture, as Marian rebuffed him even more vigorously after their subsequent dance together. Perhaps he ought to have left well enough alone when she tossed his hands away from hers in a fury, as he’d already achieved his victory, and engaging in any further pursuit at present would be detrimental to his cause. At some point, he needed to give Marian enough space to retreat and regroup, or he was in imminent danger of making her loathe him for keeps.

But instead of backing down and adopting the bemused dejection of a rejected suitor – due to his popularity with River City’s youth, this move was guaranteed to garner him sympathy rather than scorn – Harold found himself racing up the spiral staircase after the flustered librarian, nattering some nonsense about the Ladies’ Dance Committee and depositing a marshmallow between those irrepressibly kissable crimson lips. And then, as if that wasn’t foolhardy enough, he’d leaned in and kissed her on the cheek. Although his ensuing escape from her retaliating blow was executed with the same grandiose but impeccable flair in which he did everything else, such theatrics should not have been necessary. Because the plain truth of the matter was that, for the briefest of moments, Harold Hill had lost his cool and chased after Marian Paroo, not with the premeditated tenacity of the cunning Casanova, but with the petulance of an infatuated schoolboy whose crush wouldn’t give him the time of day.

 _Professor Harold Hill, bandleader extraordinaire, does not filch pecks on the cheek like a naughty child_ , his mind sternly reminded him. If – _when_ – he kissed Marian again, it would be because she wanted him as unequivocally and wholeheartedly as he wanted her – or rather, wanted him as much as any of his past conquests had.

Yet Harold couldn’t censure himself too harshly for this lapse. Because unlike their interlude at Madison Picnic Park on the evening of July fourth, this encounter was not a failure. Despite his slip-up at the end, the fly-by-night salesman had gotten the no-nonsense librarian to loosen her rigid standards of decorum in front of an audience, and he was certain that once he allowed her a few days of peace and quiet in order to nurse her ruffled feathers, he could swoop in once more and get her to do it again – this time, in private with him alone. A visit to her home would be his next move; Harold could see himself already, his hat penitently in hand as he greeted Marian with a delighted but rueful smile. She would be standoffish as usual, but too disconcerted by such a bold and unexpected gesture to dismiss him outright. His foot now firmly planted in the door, he would then proceed to knock Miss Paroo even further off balance by being the perfect gentleman, making courteous conversation while gazing at her with a subtle but heated seriousness in his eyes. If he played his cards just right, that seed of attraction deep within the librarian would finally begin to unfurl…

Exhilarated by the progress he’d made today, both with his musical con and his courtship, Harold did not engage in the usual nightly battle of wills with his fatigue – a fellow who spent his life on the lam could not afford to get into the habit of slipping too easily into slumber, even if he wasn’t in immediate danger – and allowed himself to fall asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow. But perhaps the conman should have fought to stay awake, after all…

Almost immediately, Harold found himself back in Madison Public Library, sweeping aside the podium with the massive dictionary on it, eager to plant a kiss on the librarian’s waiting crimson lips. But just as before, she gasped and ducked out of his embrace at the last second.

However, when Harold turned to pursue her with a grin, he was not met with a stern scowl in return. Nor, apparently, were they in the library any longer. Instead of neatly organized bookshelves and rows of wooden tables, the backdrop was now a lush apple orchard on a warm summer’s eve. Marian was just as enchanting as the soft moonlight and perfumed breezes, giggling as she hastened away from him and paused every so often to toss sly, inviting smiles over her shoulder. Enchanted by the picture the librarian presented – especially when her honey-blonde curls came tumbling loose from her chignon as she ran – Harold didn’t think to question the sudden shift in their surroundings, and set right off after her.

At first, he was content to follow Marian at a leisurely pace, but as her hair and gown became even more disheveled, he found his amused chuckles turning into heated gasps. His pulse quickening from both exertion and desire, Harold began to race after the librarian in earnest, impatient to end this chase. While the anticipation of pursuing a paramour was always delightful, it would only ever amount to meaningless frustration if a fellow didn’t eventually make the kill. However, although the conman was stronger and faster and should have had no trouble catching up to his quarry, she somehow managed to elude him, remaining just out of arm’s reach. As his energy began to wane and his stride gradually lagged, the librarian continued to hasten away, fleet as a doe, until all that he could discern of Miss Marian Paroo was her mocking laughter ringing through the trees.

Thoroughly irked, Harold called out her name, not once or twice but three times. Even as he cringed at the sheer desperation in his tone, he couldn’t help himself. He _wanted_ Marian, and he wasn’t going to leave this orchard until he had gotten her – pride, finesse and devil-may-care façades be damned!

It wasn’t until he’d hollered himself hoarse that Marian answered in an amused, sing-song voice, “Harold – I’m right here!”

Harold’s head jerked upward, and he was stunned to see the librarian perched at the very top of the apple tree he was presently standing under. Questions that any rational man would wonder immediately flooded into his mind. How on earth had she gotten all the way up there without him seeing or hearing? How on earth was she staying balanced on such an unstable seat? The tree’s branches swayed precariously in the breeze, but this didn’t seem to bother or even affect Marian; she simply smiled serenely down at him from her lofty perch. The whole thing defied the laws of physics, and it unnerved him.

But Harold only grinned. “And here I thought you wanted to go on a romantic moonlit stroll with me,” he said teasingly. “But we can’t do a whole lot of canoodling if Rapunzel won’t come down from her tower!”

A tantalizing gleam of mischief entered Marian’s gaze. “If it’s romance you want, _Mister_ Hill, why don’t you come up here?”

Suddenly, Harold became aware of the ladder leaning against the tree. It was a rickety thing, but he clambered up it anyway, not particularly caring that each rung he stepped on disintegrated into dust as he made his way up to where the librarian was seated.

“It’s _Professor_ Hill, my dear little librarian,” he chided as he slid smoothly into place next to her.

When Marian merely gazed at him with that deliciously dreamy, heavy-lidded look of hers, Harold was suddenly grateful they were seated, as his knees went strangely weak. He ought not to let her win so thoroughly, but once again, he couldn’t help himself; he eagerly leaned in to close the remaining distance between their mouths.

At first, their embrace was everything Harold had been waiting for. After giving him such an exasperating run for his money, Marian was anything but aloof, letting out the most delicious, throaty moans as she melted into his arms, her soft lips immediately parting beneath his when he sought a deeper kiss. Yet despite the intoxicating haze of bliss now fogging his rational mind, something still felt treacherously off kilter. It wasn’t until Marian’s loose curls rose and surrounded both their heads in a sudden whirlwind that the conman realized it wasn’t his nerves or even the magnitude of his desire that was unsettling him, it was that the breezes had increased in both strength and speed; he was in imminent danger of falling off his perch if the atmospheric conditions grew any more volatile. However, in his eagerness to make love to Marian right then and there, lest she slip away from him again, he valiantly ignored the increasing unsteadiness of his seat… until the branch they were sitting on gave its most severe and stomach-churning lurch yet.

“What say we get down from this tree and find somewhere a little more comfortable?” he purred to the librarian in between kisses, even as he reached up and began to unbutton the blouse of her green-and-gold gown with his nimble fingers.

In response, Marian arched her back against him and moaned, “Make love to me, Harold.”

Harold closed his eyes at the sheer rush of pleasure that coursed through his veins at both her words and the sensation of her warm curves pressing urgently against him. “Damn you,” he whispered vehemently as his mouth sought the hollow of the librarian’s throat, not quite sure if he was referring to her stubborn determination to stay put or the equally obstinate tenaciousness of his own carnal urges, which were apparently willing to risk the destruction of the physical vessel they counted on to attain their satisfaction.

The entire tree tilted forward in the now gale-force wind, and Harold had to pause in his ministrations so he could cling for dear life to the strangely immovable librarian until things settled down again. How on earth was she managing to stay put through all this tumult? “Marian, please,” he pleaded when the branches beneath them finally stopped shaking. “We’ve got to find solid ground.”

Apparently, that was the worst possible thing he could have said. Suddenly, Marian was neat and prim as you please, her blouse buttoned all the way up to the collar, hair re-coifed in its chignon and her spectacles perched meticulously on the end of her nose. Glaring at Harold with such loathing that he instinctively recoiled even as he was forced to continue holding onto her to stay put in the tree, the librarian hissed, “You want to go down to the ground so much? _Fine_ – let me help you get there!”

Placing both of her hands squarely on his chest, she gave him a good, hearty shove.

XXX

Harold woke up just as he hit the floor in his hotel room. Fortunately, the same tossing and turning that caused him to fall out of bed in the first place had also gotten him so tangled in the sheets and covers that they slowed his descent somewhat, and the resulting impact was not as painful as he would have expected. His thigh did throb uncomfortably afterward and it was highly likely he would develop a nasty bruise on it, but he’d been injured far worse in his life.

Still, Harold couldn’t help scowling his displeasure as he climbed back into bed and got himself comfortably – and firmly – resettled. Normally, he would have avoided putting himself anywhere near a prone position after such a disquieting sleep, but it wouldn’t be wise to pace back and forth on his sore leg. Otherwise he’d be limping tomorrow, and that wouldn’t cut a fine figure with the librarian or anyone else in town! However, although Harold had consented to return to bed, he refused to waste any time ruminating on the dream he’d just had. With nothing else to think about, and being both mentally and physically exhausted, he began to drift inexorably back into a doze. But even the siren song of slumber couldn’t stop Harold from sternly ordering his subconscious not to pester him with any more foolishness, nor did it weaken his resolve to win over River City’s librarian – _his_ way.

Once again, the fly-by-night salesman promised himself that the next time he indulged in a little canoodling with Miss Marian Paroo, his kisses wouldn’t be stolen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I cannot take credit for the fabulous closing line – it was borrowed and paraphrased from Tmyres77’s excellent oneshot, “It Only Takes A Moment.” If you haven’t read it yet, you really should!


	4. Third Dream: Soliciting the Paroos

“Do you burst in on everyone’s home like this?” Marian interrupted fiercely, “prying into personal affairs? We’re not interested.” She turned her back, starting into the house.

“Marian!” cried Mrs. Paroo.

“Well, that’s one for and one against,” said Harold cheerfully. “Now why not let the boy’s father decide?”

Marian had the screen door open but she now turned abruptly, looking squarely into Harold’s eyes. “The boy’s father is dead. Anything else?”

Harold’s broad smile faded.

_~The Music Man by Meredith Willson, page 79_

XXX

Harold winced a bit as he recalled the memory of that heated conversation with Marian on her mother’s back porch. So much for smoothing things over with the bellicose librarian! Instead, he’d managed to really put his foot in it and make her loathe him even more than she already did.

While the smooth-talking conman had long ago accepted the inevitability that nearly every woman he charmed would eventually come to despise him, he wasn’t used to being hated _before_ he achieved what he was after. But as frustrated as Harold was with the way his visit turned out, he could only place the blame for this latest failure squarely on his shoulders. He had been too careless, too sure of his winning appeal. And it had been an easy trap to fall into – after the jovial but no-nonsense Mrs. Paroo fell so neatly under his spell, he figured her daughter would soon follow suit. It would have been wise to pump Mrs. Shinn and her ladies for a little more information about the librarian’s familial circumstances before paying a call to Miss Paroo; given the pain Harold still nursed over his own mother’s passing, he couldn’t fault Marian for lashing out so harshly at the fellow who was indeed prying into sensitive affairs.

That night, the conman avoided going to bed at all, not wanting to find out what kind of dream was in store for him now. Unfortunately, there was no late-night watering hole, dance hall or other good-time place in this God-fearing little burg that a fellow could go to forget all about his cares, so Harold was left to the merciless sort of solitude that bred nothing but one unwelcome reflection after another. But as the fly-by-night salesman was never one to brood, even in the midst of misfortune, he did as he had always done and kept moving, pacing back and forth in the tiny room until he could no longer muster up the energy to do so. However, even though Harold finally gave in to the temptation to lie down just a little after midnight, he refused to take off his suit-coat or even his shoes, hoping the discomfort of remaining fully clothed would prevent him from falling asleep.

However, the events of the afternoon had taken such a toll on his vigor that he couldn’t help slipping right into slumber as soon as he closed his eyes. And just as Harold surmised, there was to be no respite for him in repose – he soon found himself running through a vast cornfield. This was no leisurely constitutional; he ran frantically and heedlessly, desperate to escape the thing that was chasing him. He didn’t know what it was exactly, but he knew that it was more horrible than even he could imagine, and he mustn’t turn around to see it.

Although it had been nearly a decade since the conman had this dream, it was a familiar one, a nightmare he’d had intermittently in his younger years. So even as Harold kept his eyes resolutely trained on the murky brown horizon ahead, he knew it was only a matter of time before some obstacle would impede his flight, rendering him stuck in place and forcing him to finally look back. Occasionally, Harold managed to wake himself up before this horror occurred, but most of the time, the nightmare triumphed, and he was impelled by a will stronger than his own to behold his dark pursuer.

Each time he had this dream, the charlatan saw something different. Sometimes it was his father, covered in ice and glaring at him with accusing eyes. Sometimes it was his mother, covered in mud, gazing at him with shame and loathing. Sometimes he’d get a double whammy and it was both of his parents, wizened and covered in cobwebs, their expressions filled with regret for ever having him in the first place. Sometimes – though very rarely – it was Eileen, glaring at him with eyes just as red as the blood gushing out of the knife wound in her side.

But the worst part of facing these inexorable judges was that Harold was never allowed to plead his case, or even explain himself. He’d try his damnedest to pierce the terrible silence, but if he dared to so much as open his mouth, his father shattered into ice, his mother disintegrated into dust, and Eileen exploded into a crimson puddle. And then, as the conman was sprayed with a stinging shower of ice, sand or blood, he’d hear their harsh, guttural, disembodied voices listing his crimes against them. If he tried to run or cover his ears or shout back a defense of his deeds, they’d get louder and louder, until his ears rang and his head throbbed and his body vibrated and he feared _he_ would shatter into pieces. But he never did; just before his destruction could occur, Harold mercifully jolted awake.

However, the fly-by-night salesman was in for a new treat tonight. At first, his nightmare proceeded in its usual, predictable fashion, the vegetation pressing closer to him until it became so dense he could barely navigate through it. But Harold continued to barrel forward, even as the stalks tore his suit-coat, snagged his hair and scratched his arms. Somehow, he managed to finally burst into a clearing. However, before he could so much as smile at this small triumph, the ground turned to quicksand, and he sank right into it. Knowing that the moment of truth would soon be upon him, the conman nevertheless struggled to free himself from the muck as the malevolent force pursuing him moved in for the kill. This only made him sink even deeper, and when Harold was buried all the way up to his waist, he finally stopped fighting the inevitable and turned around.

Marian Paroo stood before him, dressed in her green-and-gold gown, which had somehow become dirty, tattered and threadbare beyond repair. Her brilliant honey-gold curls had also lost their luster, hanging about her shoulders in a distressingly matted and tangled clump. To complete this wretched tableau, a circle of crows hovered around her head like an evil halo, pecking and clawing at her hair and ensemble and making it even more disheveled. But the librarian seemed heedless of this disturbance, paying no more attention to the birds than if they were merely miniscule gnats. Instead, her attention was focused entirely on Harold, and she gazed at him with the same imperious but wounded loathing as she had during their run-in on her back porch.

Such a vision would have been disconcerting enough to behold, but Marian was not alone. Winthrop stood a few steps behind her; an ashen cipher of a lad with dark rings around his eyes, staring glumly at the man who’d hustled his mother into buying him a cornet that he would never learn how to play. Harold wasn’t sure which sight was worse; the distraught librarian or the bereft shell of a boy. Although he knew this was his cue to try to explain himself, Harold refused to speak. What good would it do? But apparently, his sullen silence proved just as offensive, because Marian began to hurl accusations at him, insisting that he _knew_ her father was dead and he had simply pretended ignorance in order to bamboozle and distress her family. Genuinely affronted by such a charge – he honestly hadn’t known Mr. Paroo was dead, and he’d felt a real pang of abashed sympathy when Marian informed him of that – Harold opened his mouth, intending to vigorously defend himself, after all. But he snapped his jaws shut when he once again caught sight of Winthrop, who continued to hover mutely in the background, tears streaming down his cheeks as his sister reprimanded the deceitful scoundrel who’d reduced their family to this pitiful state.

It was only when Marian’s crows, filled with the fury of their mistress, began to make a swift and deadly beeline for Harold that he finally awoke, gasping and clutching at his bedclothes, which had somehow come loose and were now tangled hopelessly around his legs and waist.

XXX

When Harold finally managed to free himself from the covers, he leaped out of bed and threw off his sweat-soaked clothes. Once he was stripped down to his union suit, he opened the room’s only window and sighed in relief as the cool night air washed over him. As a teenager, he was often too busy fashioning grand dreams about the future to be bothered with his evening ablutions, and his mother used to affectionately remonstrate him whenever he fell asleep fully clothed, cautioning him that buttoned-up blouses and tightly-closed collars caused nightmares. Still, as was a strong-willed youth’s wont, he disregarded this sage admonition as a silly old wives’ tale and did just as he pleased. But his mother quietly got her way in the end; no matter what state Harold was in when sleep finally claimed him, he always awoke with an unfastened collar and a cool cloth bathing his forehead. Although he found these stealthy ministrations rather overbearing at the time, such loving gestures were what he missed most when he set out on his own and realized just how lonely a traveling salesman’s life could be…

Harold swallowed hard as a lump came into his throat, and he abruptly halted this line of thought. It would do him absolutely no good to ruminate about the past. Right now, he had far more pressing matters to consider. For the plain truth of the matter was that Professor Harold Hill, bandleader extraordinaire, had a big problem. If he couldn’t figure out how to win over Marian Paroo, the promising racket he was presently running in River City would soon come crashing down around him.

So how was he to accomplish such a feat, which seemed to grow more impossible the harder he tried to achieve it? Harold began pacing the room as he reviewed the events of his latest unsuccessful venture to win, if not the librarian’s heart, her complicity in his con. But _that_ was precisely the problem – if he didn’t win her over wholeheartedly, he certainly wouldn’t gain her cooperation. Marian Paroo was one of those rare women who _wouldn’t_ be hushed up; her silence could not be bought with intimidation, flattery, or even love.

But would she consider remaining silent for repayment in kind, as a personal favor to the man who did her brother a good turn? As querulous and off-putting as their interlude was, Harold had gained a great deal of insight into the librarian’s heart. Marian Paroo not only loved her odd duck of a younger brother, she was fiercely protective of his well-being. Thus, it stood to reason that she would view the music professor’s pie-in-the-sky promises of a River City boys’ band as adding insult to injury, when the lad had already suffered such a great loss. But what if Harold could get the stubborn librarian to see that maybe his “musical tricks” weren’t as deceitful as they seemed? Deep down, Harold believed there was always a band, even if he didn’t exactly have the know-how to lead one… but that was beside the point. If he could wow Winthrop with a shiny cornet and visions of glory, it might just give the boy the much-needed push he required to shed his morose shell and embrace the many good things life still had to offer. Winthrop was far too young to give up on the world, and even if Harold couldn’t quite deliver on every last promise he made to River City’s youth and their parents, he could at least get the lad to think of something else besides the father he was sorely missing.

And if brightening her brother’s attitude didn’t cause Marian Paroo to reconsider her opinion of Professor Harold Hill and his methods, maybe he could make life a little rosier for her, too. While his words might not have counted for much with the skeptical librarian, everyone else in town was an easy mark to be won over by a pretty speech. The fly-by-night salesman’s eloquence had quickly swayed even the indomitable Mrs. Shinn; perhaps she and her ladies might also be made to see differently about Chaucer, Rabelais and Balzac, and all the other “dirty” books they’d so roundly denounced earlier. He’d get right on that tomorrow…

Now that Harold had a concrete plan, he laid back down on the bed and allowed fatigue to overtake his senses once more. Fortunately, his subconscious must have approved of his intended course of action, because his slumber remained untroubled for the rest of the night.


	5. Fourth Dream: Wells Fargo Wagon

When the Wells Fargo Wagon arrived at River City, Harold made sure Winthrop was the first to receive his instrument. True, he had gotten sprayed in the face when the boy expressed his gratitude, but it had been worth it to see Marian’s eyes glowing with happiness.

 _That is – glowing with happiness over me_ , Harold corrected himself. It was hard not to grow a little sentimental when a pretty woman started to fall in love with him, but he’d better nip that inclination in the bud – or else he’d be the one who was hooked!

_~Falling in Love by Marianne Greenleaf, chapter 8: The Wells Fargo Wagon_

XXX

Professor Harold Hill, bandleader and charmer extraordinaire, ought to have been pleased as punch. The arrival of the shiny, new cornet did indeed transform Winthrop Paroo into a cheerful and high-spirited boy, which, in turn, caused Marian to look far more kindly upon the man who’d prodded her beloved brother out of his taciturn gloom. Not only that, the librarian allowed the music professor liberties she would never have countenanced before the Wells Fargo wagon came to town.

But that’s exactly what was troubling Harold later that night, when he reviewed the events of the afternoon as he lay in bed trying, as ever, not to fall asleep too quickly.

At first, the conman’s plans to woo the wary librarian had succeeded beautifully. When Marian Paroo beamed at him with such a stunning, lovely – and, most importantly, _welcoming_ – smile, Harold realized he’d be foolish not to prolong his hard-won victory. So instead of politely withdrawing as he initially intended, he lost no time in moving on to the next phase of his pursuit, immediately falling into step beside Marian as she returned to her post at Madison Public Library. And to his great delight, she responded to his subtle but ardent attentions exactly the way one would expect of a woman who was attracted to a man but still determined to play the blushing rose – stealing shy, sideways glances at her suitor as they strolled along the streets together; blushing delicately at his flatteries masquerading as mere pleasantries; modestly demurring when he went so far as to quote poetry but allowing him to clasp and kiss her hand, all the same. Although the librarian managed to keep a cool head in his smoldering presence and skillfully extracted herself from his steadily encroaching embrace – Marian Paroo was definitely not an easy woman, even when she allowed a man to court her – it was clear that she was no longer averse to Professor Hill’s company.

What did _not_ go according to plan was his mirroring Marian’s exact expression of intense and unconcealed longing as he stroked the inside of her palm with his thumb. For one brief but alarming moment, the librarian wasn’t the only one who had fallen; Harold found himself thinking not only of the carnal pleasures this sadder-but-wiser girl would surely offer him when she finally consented to their slipping between the sheets together, but of all the soft kisses and tender caresses he could give her to make her moan with delight, and the myriad of sweet words he could whisper in her ear to make her sigh with happiness as he made love to her. If Marian hadn’t let out that involuntary little gasp, Harold wasn’t sure what he might have ended up doing – or, God forbid, telling her.

It wasn’t the idea of confessing just how keen his desire was for River City’s librarian that bothered him; the conman had felt genuine pangs of lust for more than a few of the gals he’d conned in the past. And given that Marian Paroo was, by far, the most alluring woman he’d attempted to seduce in at least a year, it was no wonder he was avidly looking forward to reaping the fruits of his labors! What was so off-putting about this particular affair was Harold’s steadily dawning realization that he _liked_ Marian. He liked her in an earnest and congenial way that he’d never really liked a woman before. Certainly, women were fascinating and diverting creatures, but they were a dime a dozen. Although the conman relished any gorgeous specimen of femininity wherever he happened to find one, it little mattered to him if his conquest’s complexion was pale or olive, her hair brown or gold or red, her eyes green or brown or blue. Because in the end, the warmth of her flesh against his was the only memorable characteristic in a darkened hotel room or dimly lit back alley, and her voice moaned in the same frenzied key as she lay supine beneath him. Even outside the bedroom, there was a curious sameness to the way most women talked and even thought, so Harold often found himself wearing a pasted-on grin and letting the prattle of his companion of the moment wash idly over him.

But conversing with the inimitable Marian Paroo was not only enjoyable, it was invigorating. Not only did her sharp and ready tongue have the refreshing knack of keeping him on his toes at all times, the self-styled music professor didn’t have to manufacture enchantment in the librarian’s presence; he simply felt it. Harold discovered, to his astonishment, that he enjoyed matching wits with Marian for its own sake, and not merely as a means to his ultimate end. The only conning he was doing now was lying about who he truly was, professionally speaking, and what he was really up to in River City. While Harold was not so addled by this sadder-but-wiser girl’s treacherous – and perhaps calculated – air of allure as to reveal his entire charade outright, if he’d opened his mouth in the midst of stroking Marian’s palm with his thumb, he would have given her too great an insight into his own heart for comfort.

Fortunately, the librarian’s little slip-up brought the fly-by-night salesman right back to his senses, and he quickly reclaimed the high ground of their restrained but heated interlude. While Marian might have maintained impeccable poise when she dismissed his flirtation as idle banter, bade him a polite farewell and walked calmly up the library steps, the fact that her icy façade had thawed at all indicated it was only a matter of time before she would succumb to his advances. And when that long-awaited moment finally came, Harold _would_ take his time making love to Marian Paroo; after all, he’d worked hard enough for the pleasure!

Apparently, his subconscious was also extremely eager to be with Marian, because as soon as the conman drifted off to sleep, he found himself in the librarian’s company once more. It was yet another beautiful summer afternoon in River City, and the two of them were strolling in the middle of a cornfield. Curiously, the atmosphere between them was chiefly one of comfortable companionship – they walked arm in arm, talking and laughing easily – though there was delightful ripple of romance beneath their banter, both in the way Marian’s cheeks crimsoned and the way Harold’s eyes gleamed whenever their gazes happened to meet. Bit by bit, they both found excuses to move closer and closer together over the course of their conversation, until the fingers of their hands were tightly entwined and there was nothing left for them to do but finally face one another. As soon as their eyes met, the last, lingering pretense of the librarian’s maidenly propriety fell away and, though she remained silent, her gaze openly entreated the conman to claim her mouth in a passionate kiss.

This charged hush, the calm before the sweet surrender to frantic and unabashed coupling, was what Harold always lived for. He paused briefly, savoring the moment before making his move. But just as he began to lean in, a querulous Brooklyn-accented voice just over his shoulder piped up,

“Don’t do it, Miss Marian. He’ll take everything from you. He’ll take it with a grin on his face, and he’ll forget all about you afterward – even your name.”

Stunned, Harold pulled away from the librarian and whirled around. His old comrade and former shill stood only a few feet away, regarding him with an expression of grave condemnation.

“He ain’t the grand music professor he says he is,” Marcellus continued, focusing his sharp gaze on the librarian. “He’s nothing but a dirty, low-down, woman-chasing conman. You were right about him from the start.” He shook his head in disgust. “Should’ve followed your first instincts and kept your distance.”

Too flummoxed to speak even as his stomach churned with fury, Harold glared murderously at the man he’d cared for like a brother. What the hell did Marcellus think he was doing? And _why_ was he doing this? The only time he’d ever interrupted one of the conman’s conquests was when Harold’s life or liberty were in imminent danger. Hell, Marcellus had only just recently offered to set him up with his own gal’s sister! His behavior just didn’t add up. Perhaps going legitimate had made Marcellus Washburn into _too_ good a man; he was now so good that he had absolutely no qualms about betraying his partner even in such a private, personal arena. But even if Marcellus wasn’t pleased that Harold was fleecing the town he now called home, what was it to him if he seduced the “stuck up, maiden lady” librarian on the side? Perhaps Marian had coldly spurned his advances before Harold came to town, and Marcellus was eaten up with jealousy that the conman was about to succeed where he had failed. The latter explanation made much more sense… except that Harold knew that even as a scrawny youth, his old comrade had always preferred women who possessed Rubenesque physiques – or, as Marcellus rather indelicately put it during a night of joyous carousing after the culmination of one of their more lucrative schemes, “Give me a gal with some meat on her bones!”

Although Harold had always been loath to engage in outright violence, even when one of his attempted cons began to turn ugly, he gave serious thought to decking his former shill. But even in the midst of his ire, he knew it wouldn’t do any good; no matter how badly he broke Marcellus, nothing could make Marian forget what the man had just told her.

Still, maybe he ought to deck Marcellus anyway. But before Harold could take so much as one step forward, Marian marched over and smacked the short, stocky fellow sharply across the face.

“You’re nothing but a big bully! Why don’t you get out of here and leave us alone?”

As Marcellus reeled back and lost no time scuttling off into the distance, Harold turned to gape at Marian. As ever, the librarian was formidable in her wrath, standing tall and proud, her eyes blazing and her hands clenched into fists. But when their eyes met, her countenance softened.

As she relaxed, Harold finally found his voice. “ _Why_ , Marian?” he asked softly.

Marian smiled shyly and averted her eyes, once more the blushing rose. “You may well wonder how a woman who was so cold to you before could rise so hotly to your defense now.” She took a deep breath, and raised her eyes to his again. “I love you, Harold. I’ve loved you from the night you first accosted me on the street.” Her smile turned sad. “But I didn’t want to love you, because I’ve been down that road too many times before. Whether through fate or chance, I’ve always had the misfortune of falling in love with men who, even if they loved me in return, could never marry me. And the older I get, the more it hurts to make love with a man I can’t be with for keeps. I knew as soon as we met that you’d be one of those men, so I tried as hard as I could to avoid you… ” The librarian trailed off and swallowed as her eyes began to glisten. “But you were so persistent, far more persistent than any man I’ve ever met, and I’m tired of fighting my feelings for you… ”

Tears were rolling down the librarian's cheeks in earnest now, but she maintained her impeccable sense of poise; her shoulders did not slump, nor was her body racked with sobs. Her demeanor was both dignified and demonstrative; despite her previous experience with illicit amour, Marian Paroo remained, first and foremost, a lady from the ground up. His heart tightening at this stately but honest confession, Harold longed to respond in kind, to tell Marian something that was just as effusive and heartfelt in return. But once again, his voice caught in his throat and he couldn’t speak. There was nothing he could say. No matter how hard he strove to polish even his crass, profit-driven seductions with a gentlemanly veneer of pretty speeches and tender caresses, the plain truth of the matter was that, as Marcellus had revealed, his sole aim was to take as much as he possibly could, without giving anything in return.

“I know you can’t stay, Harold,” Marian reassured him, her voice trembling. “But at this point, your leaving will hurt whether or not we do end up in each other's arms… ”

Even an honorable man would have had difficulty resisting such a bare-faced entreaty. Marian Paroo was so beautiful, and so willing, that Harold simply couldn’t let her go. But maybe he could give her at least a little something, even in the midst of his taking.

“Marian,” he said in a low, longing voice. Two steps forward, and he had taken her in his arms. Their mouths met and parted, Harold kissing the librarian deeply and desperately as she melted into his embrace. After that, their prelude was a veritable blur; lips remained tightly pressed together as hands feverishly unfastened garments. Once their outer clothing had been divested, they tumbled to the ground, the librarian sprawled supine beneath the fly-by-night salesman as he tugged aside the opening to her drawers and entered her without preamble. As Marian gasped and undulated against him, Harold buried his face in the crook of her neck, his lips avidly exploring the shape and feel of her as they made love. If he was ever to remember any woman he’d ever been with, when he was craving the warmth of a woman’s embrace during those long and lonely train rides, he wanted it to be her. And to his delight, Marian seemed just as eager to memorize him, burying her face in the crook of his neck and showering him with such sweet kisses that, for the first time in ages, there was not the slightest bit of pretense in his sighs of pleasure. When the librarian’s slender fingers wound in his hair and stroked all the way down to his backside, they left trails of goose bumps that made Harold shiver and groan even louder, until he could no longer settle for the satisfaction of simply being inside her. As foolish and dangerous as such inclinations were, he needed to _see_ her, and he needed her to see him.

“Marian,” he said huskily. “Look at me.”

Her eyes fluttered open, and she smiled at him. “Harold,” she said dreamily.

Holding her gaze, Harold began to thrust slowly forward. As her hips rose to meet his and the two of them fell back into a smooth, undulating rhythm, Marian’s face contorted with pleasure, and her eyes closed again. As she writhed and moaned beneath him, Harold continued to watch her, keen to commit to memory every detail of her beautiful face as her body moved in rhythm with his. Certainly, she was no maid; even if she hadn’t confessed her previous experience, he knew enough about women to realize he was not the first man to plumb these depths. Yet the librarian was no calculating seductress, either; she was openly warm and affectionate in her lovemaking, making love to him like a woman in love.

Again, this was not something that was new to Harold; a good deal of the women he slept with had been in love with him to at least some degree. Those few who were only in it for the pleasure took great pride in demonstrating their skill and experience, but were not nearly so warm in their embrace; excessive kisses and blandishments were frivolities to such females. But Marian Paroo was that rare mixture of experienced paramour and honest lover – and it was intoxicating.

Harold ought to have reveled in this delectable treat. But instead, his apprehension returned full force. In his fervor to etch Marian irrevocably into his senses, the conman hadn’t quite realized until now that not only was the librarian making love to him like she loved him, he was making love to her in exactly the same way. While Harold considered it a point of masculine pride to sate a woman at least once before he reached his own climax, he had brought Marian to ecstasy no less than three times already. Not only that, he was doing this at the expense of his own release: Each time Harold felt himself nearing the precipice of euphoria, he would bring their frenzied tempo to a halt, lift his head, and gasp for Marian to look at him. As they gazed at each other, he would begin making love to her again, slowly. When his skillful ministrations brought Marian to the point where she had to close her eyes again, Harold would lower his head to her neck and nuzzle it as she rode out the waves of intense pleasure. Once her cries tapered off into gasps, his mouth would crash down on hers and they’d share a long, hard kiss as he quickened the pace of their lovemaking again, until he had to stop once more. It was only after the fifth or sixth time he’d brought Marian to ecstasy – he was starting to lose count – that Harold finally strove to achieve his release in earnest.

But to his astonishment, he found now that he was actively trying to cross the final threshold, he couldn’t get there. The more sated Marian grew, the more frustrated Harold became; he was giving the librarian plenty of satisfaction, so why couldn’t he get any in return? Still, even as the finish line receded further and further into the distance, he refused to quit until he’d finally reached it. Especially as Marian certainly didn’t seem to mind him taking so long – she continued to cling fiercely to him, urging him on with her beguiling moans, kisses and caresses. Too proud to back down and too desperate to regain his balance in this affair, the conman broke yet another of his rules when it came to lovemaking, shouting the librarian’s name over and over in a pleading voice as he kept going, determined to pay whatever price it took to achieve satisfaction, even as he felt his vigor draining irreversibly out of him…

XXX

Harold jolted awake. At first, he wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or annoyed at the abrupt interruption of his slumber. As disconcerting as his dream-tryst with Marian Paroo was turning out to be, he would have preferred to see it through to a bitter end and woken up subdued in both spirit and flesh. While his mind knew full well he wasn’t likely to attain a satisfying culmination of his coupling with Marian, the capricious denial of any kind of resolution had no effect in quelling his carnal urges; his body remained stubbornly and damnably aroused, no matter how sternly he counseled patience. Despite the ominous fancies of his fevered brain, he was making terrific progress in his courtship of the librarian, and it wouldn’t be much longer until she succumbed to his advances. So even though Harold was not opposed to self-pleasure in principle, he found it essential to both his prowess and stamina to keep his desire honed as keenly as possible when he was so close to making a conquest.

Although the conman was certainly not ashamed to engage in the act when his romantic circumstances were much less promising, even then he tried to hold out for as long as he could, preferring to sate his appetites in the company of a willing woman. Though he gloried in his life of nomadic detachment, he couldn’t help craving the warmth of human companionship, if only in its most basic form. So given the choice, Harold would sooner have paid a back-alley hussy than do the deed all by his lonesome – although he tended to avoid prostitutes as well, instead choosing women he could charm into warming his bed for free. And it wasn’t difficult for him to find such females, especially when he was in a big city like Chicago or New York. For a man who was used to smooth-talking his way into the drawers of practically any woman he wanted – whether he genuinely desired her or not – self-pleasure was akin to substituting moonshine for merlot.

However, sometimes even a Casanova like him had to take his own needs in hand, so to speak, and after the dream he’d had tonight, he’d much rather settle for cheap booze than none at all. While self-pleasure wasn’t the most ideal course of action, Harold was, first and foremost, a practical man. He was in the middle of nowhere and there were few, if any, easy women to be had. Even if he could locate a burlesque house in the vicinity, it would do his reputation no good if anyone spotted him going to or coming from such a place. In a town where everyone knew everyone else’s business, news of the music professor’s scandalous whereabouts would be sure to get back to Marian, and he’d lose all the ground he’d tentatively gained with her. The potential payoff wasn’t worth the magnitude of risk. And if truth be told, the conman wanted the librarian too much to contemplate bedding another woman right now, no matter how willing she was.

Yet it wasn’t losing the battle against his carnal inclinations that irked him; what really bothered Harold was just how badly he wanted Marian’s hands to be doing this, instead of his own. He imagined the librarian naked and sitting astride him, her golden hair flowing loose down over her shoulders as she pleasured him with both her hands and her mouth. And just like in his dream, Harold couldn’t stop himself from moaning her name over and over again, until he finally obtained the release he’d been so desperately seeking.

Still, although the conman’s amorous urges were getting a little too heated even for his liking, he refused to put too much stock in the dizzying influx of feeling that flooded his senses whenever he contemplated the lovely librarian. As for his _liking_ Marian, such stirrings were merely a temporary side effect of all the time and effort he’d had to put in to win her over. In the past, Harold never had to get to know a gal to this degree before she consented to his overtures; a few pretty speeches and smoldering glances, and she fell right into his arms. Having to delve into a woman’s soul before he could even think of finding his way beneath her petticoats was a strange and unsettling novelty – it was no wonder he was experiencing such tumultuous dreams!

Having taken the edge off his lust for the time being, the fly-by-night salesman was confident that once he took that long-awaited roll in the hay with the current object of his desire, he would get her out of his system for good and be completely free to move on to the next town, the next lover. Professor Harold Hill anticipated leaving River City with a pocket of cash and no regrets, exhilarated by the prospect of the new adventures awaiting him.

But before he hopped on that train out of town, he _would_ have Marian Paroo – no matter what it cost him.


	6. Lament: Till There Was You

Harold knew now. He finally knew. _Imagine a librarian tearing out a page from a library book – imagine me –_ He shook his head over and over. _Of all the people in the world – imagine me –_ He finished his thought out loud, “ – in love.” His neck prickled and his face burned as he said it, but the fatal words hung there in the air and he knew they told the truth. Confronted with the overwhelming significance of this realization, Harold didn’t see anything important or even interesting in the sight of Marcellus pounding furiously toward him from around the corner.

As hard as he had tried to resist, evade and explain it away with terms like _tempted_ , _bewitched_ and _ensnared_ , the moment of reckoning had come at last: _I am in love with Marian Paroo. Utterly, hopelessly, desperately in love._ This realization didn’t burst forth with brilliant fanfare like a seventy-piece orchestra, as Harold would have expected, but simply announced itself, as if it had been there all along. Love had stolen into his soul as gently and gradually as a fog rolling over the hills; while Harold had schemed and plotted to weave webs around Marian, love had been quietly entwining him in its inexorable Gordian knot.

_~The Music Man by Meredith Willson, pp. 128-129 and Falling in Love by Marianne Greenleaf, chapter 15: Goodnight, My Someone_

XXX

As he recalled all the dreams he’d had about Marian, Harold smiled and shook his head. Despite the grim circumstances he was presently facing, he couldn’t help being amused by what a blind and stubborn fool he’d been. While he wouldn’t go so far as to call it love at first sight, he’d fallen for the librarian early on – maybe even the moment he’d spied her scowling at his antics from her perch on the piano bench during the Fourth of July exercises in the River City High School gymnasium.

It was both a strange and wonderful sensation, to be deeply in love with a woman without having so much as unfastened the top button of her blouse. While Harold had canoodled with Marian at the footbridge, sharing with her the sweetest and truest kisses he’d ever experienced in his life, he had not made love to her. Even if the strait-laced librarian had allowed him to seduce her, his heart wouldn’t have let him go that far. Marian deserved so much better than a fleeting roll in the hay, and not only did Harold know that, he cared enough to restrain himself for her sake. And as he held the librarian in his arms, his irrepressible confidence had started to whisper that maybe, just maybe, if they could manage to overcome the obstacles of his current profession, some kind of permanent arrangement between them could be devised. If that was indeed the case, he wasn’t going to let his carnal inclinations jeopardize such tantalizing possibilities, even as slim as they were.

But, Harold reflected as River City High School came into view and the posse dragged him up the front steps, he had known from the moment Marian declared her love for him on the footbridge that if he was going to woo her in the way she deserved, it would cost him much more than he had bargained for: his livelihood, his freedom, and perhaps even his health or life, if the good but hardnosed townspeople were overzealous in their punishment. Instead of waiting around to be apprehended for his crimes, what Harold should have done after Marcellus passed him the money was gone back to Marian, told her he loved her, and kissed her goodbye. It would have been both the sensible and gentlemanly course of action; as distressing as their parting would have been, it would have been a far better final memory of their time together for the librarian to recall, instead of the pitiful sight of him suffering at the hands of his captors. But something had made the fly-by-night salesman stay to see things through to the bitter end; stubbornness and love mingling in a dangerous alchemy and rendering him unable to leave even when Marian herself begged him to at least try to escape.

So at long last, Professor Harold Hill was about to face the music – only there was no music and there never would be. When the conman was hustled into the classroom with great fanfare, it wasn’t the rush of angry fathers attempting to deck him that sent an unwelcome shiver of fear down his spine, it was the triumphant gleam in Mayor Shinn’s eyes and the wolfishness of his smile. While Marcellus Washburn and Constable Locke were able to hold back the irate hordes, they couldn’t fight City Hall. The politician whom the spell-binding cymbal salesman had crossed one time too many would finally get his revenge, and he was going to enjoy every minute of it. It was not simply justice Mayor Shinn was after, it was personal vengeance – a far more cruel and dangerous thing. And the livid townspeople would surely second whatever their aggrieved leader suggested. Incarceration would not suffice to sate the River City-ziens’ wounded pride; Harold surmised the very best fate he could look forward to was tarring and feathering, and possibly being ridden out of town on a rail. Both punishments would be painful, but hopefully, any permanent scars he sustained from this latest tangle with an angry mob could be easily concealed beneath his dapper suit. Harold Hill did not relish the idea of becoming a repugnant shell of a man on the outside, as well.

The disgraced music professor turned to look at Marian, intending to tell her to go home before the crowd started in on him. But once again, he couldn’t bring himself to speak. As much as Harold didn’t want the librarian to witness what was about to happen, her steady presence was the only thing keeping him from losing his nerve. No matter what they did to him, he refused to give Mayor Shinn the satisfaction of seeing him crumble. But even if cooler heads prevailed and the conman merely ended up in prison, he was not going to emerge from his latest misadventure unscathed. Because every man had his breaking point, and it wasn’t being caught that was Harold’s. It was realizing too late that not only had he fallen in love, but that from day one, he’d blithely and carelessly squandered any possibility of building a real and lasting future with Marian Paroo.


	7. Aftermath: The Real Marian

Mayor Shinn’s voice now ascended the scale. “Well, where’s the band?” _Where’s the band?_ ”

The silence in the assembly room was shattered by a piercing whistle. The door at the far end of the hall was flung open and Tommy Djilas, in the drum-major costume, marched in, leading the River City Boys’ Band. The boys were in uniform, gold-braided and glittering, some a few sizes too big, some a few sizes too small, but nonetheless resplendent in the eyes of their parents. Up to the platform they marched, instruments high. The spectacle was everything Professor Harold Hill had promised and more – Johnny, Willy, Teddy, Fred! How the lamplight flashed on those crashing cymbals, shining trumpets – tantara – and gold trombones, not quite seventy-six – in fact, only two – but dazzling; not one hundred and ten cornets, just one – but worth a hundred-and-ten, the way Winthrop Paroo was carrying it.

Professor Hill was staggered. He looked around desperately, but there was no place to hide. Marian Paroo, unperturbed, ran to the blackboard. Picking up a pointer, she broke off one end as a baton, stepped quickly back to Harold and handed it to him. He looked helplessly at the boys. They beamed back, but Harold retreated, his face paling in the school room’s bright light.

Marian placed a gentle hand on his arm. “Please,” she said.

_~The Music Man by Meredith Willson, pp. 140-141_

XXX

Harold Hill had done it. He’d really done it. He’d actually led a boys’ band!

But even as Constable Locke unshackled the handcuffs around his wrists, the now honest-to-goodness music professor had difficulty fathoming this extraordinary turn of events, and couldn’t help wondering if he was once again in the clutches of a particularly vivid dream. As the enthralled River City-ziens gathered around to congratulate and fawn over him, Harold discreetly pinched himself on the inside of his wrist. But as he winced at the unexpectedly sharp pain of it – after being bound and knocked around, he ought not to have been so enthusiastic in this gesture – the celebratory scene before him did not change or even waver. So from the looks of things, he really _was_ Professor Harold Hill, bandleader extraordinaire.

Surrounded by admirers and well-wishers, it should have been Harold’s cue to smile and bask in the praise and the accolades that, for once, he had earned fair and square. But as he surveyed the crowd with a dazed grin, all he could think about was getting back to Marian. Not two minutes ago, she’d been sitting a mere two feet away, beaming at him. But now, she was absolutely nowhere to be found. Where on earth had she disappeared to, and so quickly? As gratifying as it was to be the champion of River City once more, Harold could never forget that only a few moments before, these same townspeople would just as gladly have tarred and feathered him. It was Marian alone who believed in him, who spoke stirringly to the mob on his behalf and urged him to take his place as conductor when the boys proudly marched into the room. And he’d had the sneaking suspicion that the librarian would even have gone so far as to throw herself between him and the tar, Pocahontas-style, if the situation deteriorated to that point. He had to find her.

Stammering a well-worn but trusty excuse about needing to find the nearest lavatory – a method that had always served him well in the past – Harold extricated himself from the joyful hordes surrounding him and set off after the woman he loved. Fortunately, Marian hadn’t gotten too far away – he managed to catch up with her just before she slipped through the front doors to the high school. Eager to achieve their reunion as quickly as possible, lest this really was all just a dream, Harold called out to the librarian as soon as she was in earshot.

Even now, Harold would not have been surprised if Marian scolded him for his lack of decorum – but even then, it wouldn’t have dampened his glee. However, when she turned to greet him with an expression of sheer delight, and proceeded to allow him a brief but passionate kiss as they stood right in the middle of the hallway, he forgot himself even more. But just as the newly-minted music professor was moving in to wrap his arms around the librarian and crush her to him so he could demonstrate his appreciation even more thoroughly, she recovered her poise, backed out of his embrace, and did indeed admonish him for his forwardness – though her eyes twinkled as she did so. And she did not protest his suggestion that they withdraw to somewhere a bit more private in order to continue their conversation.

So Harold took Marian by the arm and escorted her to her front porch. It was all he could do not to skip like a schoolboy as they strolled along River City’s broad avenues; he felt lighter and freer than he ever could have believed possible for a man who had given his heart so irrevocably to a woman. As the moments continued to pass in languid and unchanged bliss, it became even easier to embrace the idea that he _was_ a legitimate bandleader; soon it was the trial in the classroom that seemed merely a bad dream. Yet the sudden change in Harold’s circumstances still staggered him. One minute, he’d been humbled into the very dust, facing the grimmest of prospects for his fate, and the next, he was on top of the world, with a glorious future ahead of him. He wished Marian would give him a penny for his thoughts, as he was itching to tell her that he felt like a newborn phoenix, risen from the ashes – and his transformation was all thanks to her.

However, despite his excitement, Harold was loath to disturb such a pleasant and companionable silence, and contented himself with quietly savoring this new understanding between him and Marian. There would be plenty of time to talk – and do an equal amount of _not_ talking – once they reached the Paroo front porch.

But when the two of them finally reached their destination and Harold turned to face Marian with a grin, he found himself hesitating to make good on his previous promise to express the full depth of his gratitude – even as he took her hands in his and gently tugged her toward him. Although the librarian willingly came forward and continued to regard him with that lovely smile of hers, there was an unmistakable glimmer of apprehension in her eyes. In fact, Marian’s gaze had grown almost as guarded as it was when they stood on her front porch earlier that evening. Harold’s heart tightened at the reminder of just how badly they had both wanted to fall into each other’s arms at the time. However, matters had been too unsettled for either of them to succumb to love’s siren song and, though the very air itself had thrummed with romantic anticipation, their feelings had remained staunchly undeclared. Now that they had finally come to an understanding and the triumph of the Think System made a legitimate future together possible, it saddened the music professor to see a resurgence of reticence on the librarian’s part – though he could easily fathom why she might still have difficulty letting herself indulge too wholeheartedly in both him and their fledgling relationship.

But Harold would continue to prove himself to her, bit by bit, starting now.

“I dreamed of you, Marian,” he confessed, letting his grin fall away and his countenance grow solemn. “Almost from the first night I arrived to town, you were in my dreams, in a way that no woman ever was before. You’ve gotten under my skin, my dear little librarian.” He lifted her hands to his lips and bestowed soft kisses on her slender fingers. “More than that – you’ve gotten into my soul. And you teased out things I didn’t even know were there.”

Marian’s smile broadened at his heartfelt admission, and she made one of her own: “I couldn’t get you out of my mind either, Harold. That night when you first followed me home, I dismissed your overtures as a brazen but swiftly passing annoyance. But just a little while later, when I was consoling Amaryllis after Winthrop rejected her party invitation, I found myself gazing at the Evening Star and wondering who my own someone was. I couldn’t help recalling our encounter… I couldn’t help recalling _you_. And as much as I despised you, I continued to think of you every time I saw Venus after that. At first, I was baffled and upset by your ever-increasing presence in my thoughts. But as time passed, I started to understand what was happening to my heart… and to welcome it.” Reaching up, the librarian smoothed the disheveled curl back from the music professor’s forehead, making him shiver pleasantly. “Music was always in your soul, Harold. Although I initially tried to dismiss your unorthodox methods as mere flim-flam, I knew deep down you had a genuine talent for musical instruction the moment I saw you transform the perpetually feuding school board into inseparable singing partners.” She moved her hand down to place her palm gently over his heart. “You’re brilliant at helping others to discover the music in themselves. You simply needed someone to give you that little extra push to realize it in _you_.”

“I wondered what made you persist in defending the Think System,” Harold said, both awed at Marian’s insight and grateful that she turned out to be so right about him. “At first, I thought you said those things in the Candy Kitchen merely because you liked me, but even after the game was up and I was exposed for what I truly was, you continued to defend me – first to Winthrop, and then to the whole town.” He paused and swallowed as a lump came into his throat. “No one’s ever done that for me, before.”

The apprehension now completely absent from her gaze, Marian regarded him with the same warm, beaming expression as she had when they were in the classroom and all seemed lost. “I was glad to do it, Harold.”

“But why did you do it?” Harold asked quietly, wanting to hear her say it again, to state aloud the reason for the beautiful way she was looking at him.

But even as a woman in love, Marian retained some of her alluring aloofness. “Well… why did _you_ forsake your last chance of escape to hold me in your arms?” she slyly returned.

“I think you’ll find the answer to both questions is the same, Madam Librarian,” Harold said with a grin, though his gaze was anything but lackadaisical and remained intently on hers.

Although he was longing to kiss her, Harold pulled her into his arms instead, and simply held her close. To his relief and delight, Marian warmly relaxed into his embrace, just as she had on the footbridge. Still, Harold was careful not to move too fast; after he deemed a suitable interval had passed, he pulled back and sought the librarian’s eyes with his, holding her gaze until he was absolutely certain there was nothing but invitation in hers, before finally closing the distance for a kiss that was light and sweet, but also full of tender promise.

The way Marian kissed him back was something else. Her lips moved against his in a heady mix of innocence and yearning; she was clearly a maid, but a maid in love. Once again, it dawned on Harold that he was now completely free to build a future with her. And now that he could have the librarian for keeps, he would; his arms tightened around her waist and a possessive note entered his kiss. With that same enchanting mix of warmth and guilelessness, Marian melted even more into his embrace. As much as her warm response made Harold want to find the nearest minister to hitch them post-haste, they were both far from ready to take that final, permanent step. Although tonight had been a major triumph that cemented his credentials as a bonafide music professor, he couldn’t yet offer Marian the stability she needed and deserved; he still had a ways to go before his new livelihood would be solvent enough for him to even consider asking her to share a life with him. There was so much to do and to think about, Harold doubted he’d sleep at all tonight – this would be his grandest scheme of all!

So before things could progress too much further, he gently but definitively brought their embrace to an end and bade the dreamy-eyed librarian goodnight. As exhilarating as it was to contemplate slipping between the sheets with his beloved – and the rapidly reforming Casanova was firmly resolved he would only take Marian to bed as his lawfully wedded wife – it wouldn’t do to get carried away so quickly. Especially as it was highly likely that he was the first man who had ever kissed her. Certainly, he was the first man who had ever kissed her _that_ way. Although Harold would never have begrudged Marian’s previous experience, had she turned out to be the sadder-but-wiser girl after all, there was something about her innocence he found strangely appealing. He would be the man to teach her the fullness of love’s joy, to awaken the most intimate areas of her body and coax her into experiencing pleasure she never knew existed. From the first time they made love on their wedding night to the music professor’s final, dying breath, Marian would be wholly and entirely his.

Whereas such a notion would have once made Harold feel trapped and itching to hop the next train out of town, he now looked upon their impending courtship as a delectable adventure. The librarian was the most fascinating female he’d ever met, and though she had revealed her heart to him tonight, there was still a lot more to discover about her – fathoms more. Harold Hill was looking forward to getting to know the _real_ Marian Paroo: the fiercely loyal, warmly affectionate woman who so generously gave of herself while still maintaining her principles. It was time his innermost mind began to grasp her true personality; the librarian was not the seductive chimera, ethereal specter, vengeful goddess or worldly-wise paramour that had inhabited his dreams over the past month.

Although he was indeed too busy planning his future with Marian to sleep that night, the next time Harold did end up lying down upon his bed at the boarding house, his repose was deep and untroubled.


	8. Epilogue: Getting to Know Her

_It’s you on my pillow in all of my dreams_  
 _Till once more the morning breaks through_  
 _What words could be saner or truer or plainer_  
 _Than it’s you, it’s you, yes, it’s you, oh, yes it’s you_

And Professor Hill. What about that big-haul, great-go, neck-or-nothing, rip-roaring ev’ry time a bull’s-eye salesman? How unbalanced would he feel dropping the Professor off the front end of his name? And sharing the rest of it? For life?

He certainly wouldn’t try to justify the Professor part, would he? Or now that he’d actually led a band for the first time in his life, _would he_? We do know that, in his way, he had waited for Marian a long, long time and if “happily-ever-after” ever had, or ever was to have, a chance on this earth it would certainly seem to be with these two.

_~The Music Man by Meredith Willson, pp. 144-145_

XXX

_November 1912_

As River City’s genuine, bonafide, tried-and-true music professor danced with his dear little librarian at their wedding reception, he whispered his own private toast into her ear: “To todays worth remembering: a whole lifetime of them.”

Marian Paroo Hill beamed and tightened her arms around her husband. “Our yesterdays will always be full.”

“That they will,” Harold agreed. It was another promise he made to her, on top of his wedding vows. He pulled his wife even closer, until they were resting cheek to cheek. He meant to whisper many things to her, sweet and heated and true, but his Adam’s apple was bobbing too wildly for him to form the words. So he finally gave up and said, in a voice heavy with the love and longing he couldn’t convey in speech, “Let’s go home, Marian.”

Harold felt a delicious little shiver run through the librarian’s body, but when he pulled away a little to gauge her level of apprehension – she was, after all, still a maid – her countenance was surprisingly serene, even as her eyes shone with a deep and intense joy. Marian didn’t speak, but she didn’t need to; her open, inviting gaze told Harold everything he needed to know.

When they finally finished making their goodbyes to their guests, it took every ounce of the music professor’s self-control _not_ to pull his dear little librarian to the charming Victorian at a run.

XXX

_February 1913_

It had been a long journey, but now that Harold Hill had finally tied the knot with Marian Paroo, he had more than mere dreams to make his pulse race. During their four-month courtship, the librarian had continued to inhabit his dreams, and now that they were married, he took great pleasure in not just dreaming about her but _knowing_ her, in every sense of the word. Although he kept the lights low for the first month whenever they made love, to ensure the comfort of his blushing bride, Harold did not let that stop his eyes, hands and lips from examining and committing to memory every inch of the woman he’d longed for all this time. The curve of her neck meeting her shoulder, which had been too often hidden by her high-collared gowns. The tantalizing slope of her naked back, which upon being caressed made her shiver pleasantly and nestle closer to him. The warm fullness of her hips as she melted into his embrace. The alluring round dip of her navel. The delicate sprinkling of freckles on her milk-white thighs. Ten tiny, shell-pink toes, whose daintiness caused her to giggle and squirm when he teasingly nibbled on them.

But the former fly-by-night salesman’s favorite discovery about his wife was the small but asymmetrical birthmark on her upper back. At first, Marian only laughed in flattered bewilderment each time her husband kissed it, as she clearly could not fathom why such a glaring imperfection should appeal to him so much. It wasn’t until that tumultuous night in mid-January when Harold stopped hiding his physical scars from her that she began to understand. A few evenings after that tryst, when he once again kissed that birthmark and heard her ripple of bemused laughter, he turned the librarian toward him and, looking intently at her, placed her hand first on the brand mark on his shoulder, and then the knife wound in his side. When Marian’s smile faded and her eyes glistened with teary comprehension, Harold covered her lips in a searing kiss. After that long and heated night, if the music professor was ever in the mood for lovemaking, all he had to do to inflame his wife’s ardor was come up behind her, wrap his arms around her waist and kiss that dear spot on her back. And no matter how many layers of fabric separated his lips from her birthmark, the librarian would shiver and sigh as if his lips were touching her bare skin.

In the two-and-a-half months since they’d married, Marian had learned an awful lot about Harold, in return. If she wanted something more than playful banter with him from the get-go of a tryst, all _she_ had to do was run her fingers lovingly along the scar on his side. And when she paired this gesture with that alluring come-hither glance of hers, Harold’s devil-may-care grin faded and his silver tongue stilled at the stark reminder that this lovely, principled woman not only knew his sordid past inside and out, but that he was the man she had chosen to share her life with, and she wanted nothing more than for him to make love to her. Harold always obliged her unspoken request, baring both his body and soul to her as they moved together between the sheets, endeavoring to deserve her by being the warmly demonstrative and devoted husband she deserved in return. It was a challenging and downright embarrassing road to travel at times, being so openly intimate with a woman, but the satisfaction Harold derived from his efforts made the awkwardness well worth it.

It helped immensely that Marian, too, was just as eager to overcome her trepidation and let herself go with her lover. The librarian’s caresses were progressing from timidly longing to fervently unabashed in a far shorter time than he would have expected of a maid; he would never forget how merely a week into their honeymoon, her wandering hands had boldly found his backside and pressed him deeper into her as they made love. Yet as elated as Harold was with the progress his wife was making, he made sure never to move too quickly for her comfort, always waiting for her to give him the implicit go-ahead before he tried anything new, lest he overwhelm her sensibilities.

Fortunately, having to curtail his wilder impulses for the time being was not as arduous as Harold would have surmised once upon a time – especially as the librarian wasn’t all serious in the bedroom. She’d discovered early on that all she had to do was flick her eyelashes against his cheek, and he was reduced to a wriggling, helpless ball of laughter in her arms. As much as the former charlatan had always despised the unsettling sensation of being tickled, he reveled in his wife’s delightfully wicked sense of humor, and bore her playful assaults on his person with genuine amusement. And although Harold knew how to give back just as good as he got when it came to tickling Marian into surrender, his favorite method of revenge was teasing his wife with the longest, sweetest, most drawn-out kisses and caresses until her inhibitions were completely shattered and she brazenly entreated him to do to her all the heated things she would have found far too scandalous to request outright in broad daylight.

Yet even as the music professor was bringing out the ardent and unreserved lover in Marian, she was bringing out the tender and self-sacrificing husband in him.

One evening in early January, Harold came home from the music emporium to find the librarian curled up in bed. Though her eyes remained staunchly shut even after he bent over to plant a warm kiss on her cheek, the grimace of pain contorting her countenance indicated she was far from slumber. Quelling his impulse to race to the phone and ring up Dr. Pyne, and knowing it would do little good to insist that his ailing-but-proud wife spill the beans about her condition post-haste, Harold patiently and gently conversed with Marian until she blushingly revealed that her discomfort was due to the sudden and unexpected onset of her menses earlier that afternoon. Stifling the urge to let out an exasperated sigh at her Victorian hesitancy to divulge such information – after all they’d shared of themselves with each other, how could his dear little librarian think something as trifling as menses would disgust or disappoint him? – Harold wordlessly removed his shoes, suit-coat, bowtie and belt.

Ignoring Marian’s look of surprise, even as his heart tightened to see her confounded expression – apparently, she really _did_ think he wouldn’t want to get anywhere near her when she was in such an unromantic state – he slipped into bed and curled his body around hers. With a little more tactful but insistent prodding, the music professor then coaxed his wife to articulate the precise nature of her physical complaints; for all his experience with the fairer sex, it was indeed the case he’d never bothered to catalog or even ponder in passing the malaise of a woman undergoing her monthly courses. But when Marian outlined the symptoms she was presently suffering, Harold knew it might help to place his warm hands over her abdomen, which he did without delay.

As the librarian whimpered, sighed and nestled closer to him, he crooned _Goodnight, My Someone_ softly into her ear until at long last, her breathing slowed and she fell asleep in earnest. Because sleep was no longer his adversary, Harold had no qualms about joining the woman he loved in repose and, although he’d woken up with a numb arm and a rumbling stomach the next morning, seeing Marian’s refreshed countenance and beaming smile more than made up for his physical disgruntlement.

Now that the former Casanova bestowed his affections without the expectation of perfect reciprocation, he was wholly enchanted when the librarian demonstrated the same generous consideration for his well-being, in return.

On the evening after a long and busy Valentine’s Day, Harold nodded off while leafing through scores in the music room after supper. Much later, he awoke to find his bowtie undone, collar loosened, shoes removed, and a blanket tucked around him. His heart swelling with love for his sweet wife, he was torn between remaining in his cozy little cocoon and finding Marian so he could kiss the daylights out of her. But as it turned out, he didn’t need to choose between the two. As Harold languidly mulled over the pros and cons of each course of action, still in a half doze, the librarian tiptoed into the room and laid something on the end table next to his chair. Before she could slip away again, Harold reached up and pulled her down to his lap, barely giving her enough time to gasp in surprise before his mouth covered hers in a warm kiss. But as Marian had always been a quick study, and was by now accustomed to her husband’s amorous nature, she soon got into the spirit of their embrace, eagerly nestling closer as he spread his arms and wrapped her in the blanket with him.

“What time is it, darling?” Harold asked in a hoarse voice, after they finally parted for air.

Marian laughed breathlessly. “It’s nearly fifteen minutes past ten.”

“Fifteen minutes, you say?” He gave her a playful grin. “Well, it’s awfully late to be up and about, Madam Librarian. Why aren’t you in bed yet?”

“I could ask you the same question, _Mister_ Hill,” the librarian retorted with a scolding but indulgent smile as she leaned in to bestow a soft kiss on his cheek. “I came in here to see if you were still asleep.”

“And to secretly leave me a final Valentine’s Day salute while there was still time,” he remarked, eying the red paper heart on the table. Over the course of the day, he’d come across several of these jaunty trinkets – one on his end table when he woke up that morning, one tucked into the pocket of his winter coat when he pulled his gloves out, one pressed between the pages of his songbook when he opened it during rehearsal, one in his lunch pail, one beneath the rim of his plate when he sat down to eat the delicious dinner Marian had prepared for the two of them. He winked at his wife. “It seems Cupid has been tailing me quite a bit – though I never thought I’d actually catch him in the act!”

Even in the dim light, he saw a charming blush spread across Marian’s cheeks. “Think nothing of it, Harold,” she demurred. “It was a trifle, really, the culmination of a girlish fancy on my part. Mama’s not exactly what one would call a romantic, but she always delighted in leaving paper hearts around for Papa to find as he went about his business on Valentine’s Day. I thought it was a nice idea and dreamed of doing the same for my own husband one day… though such a paltry lark could never come close to the lovely gift that _you_ gave me today.”

The music professor, of course, had taken the more grandiose route of having the entire River City boys’ band stand outside the Candy Kitchen and play a stumbling but enthusiastic instrumental of _It’s You_ as he treated the librarian to a post-lunch strawberry phosphate. However, even though Harold’s present had indeed required a bit more planning and exertion to implement, his heart constricted at his wife’s self-effacing dismissal of her thoughtfulness in comparison to his, and he wished he could take back his teasing.

“Oh, darling,” Harold said ruefully, dropping a light kiss on her forehead. “Anyone can throw together a lavish public display of affection. But it’s the sweet, private gestures of love that mean the most, in the big scheme of things.” He paused, and the impish grin returned to his face. “I look forward to Cupid’s visit next year.”

Marian flashed him a wry smile. “Well… as long as you don’t spoil the surprise again. You woke up too soon!”

Harold chuckled and tightened his arms around her. “Cupid pressed her luck just a bit too far,” he pointed out. “She _could_ have left her final heart when she came in earlier to make her husband more comfortable and he slept right through her ministrations!”

If they’d had any space between them, the librarian likely would have swatted him. But as they were pressed together, she simply laughed and laid her head on his shoulder. A lovely interval of silence lingered between them until, to Harold’s surprise, Marian was the one to end it.

“I didn’t want to go to bed without you,” she confessed in a low voice. “Especially not on Valentine’s Day… ”

A lump came into the music professor’s throat at that, and he immediately swallowed it away. Not because he wished to conceal his sudden upswell of emotion – during the past few months of their marriage, Harold had overcome much of his trepidation to let himself go in Marian’s presence – but because he had something he’d been wanting to tell her, too. Something he’d been reminded of each time he came across another red paper heart.

“Marian,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to her honey-gold curls, “do you remember that night last July, when a happy ending seemed impossible for us?”

“I could never forget that night, Harold,” she said softly.

He swallowed again. “Well, even then, I couldn’t help dreaming of the impossible. As I watched you explain to Winthrop about the lights and the colors and the flags and the cymbals, all I could think of was what a wonderful mother you’d make. Normally, such a notion would have sent me sprinting to catch the next train out of town, but instead, it made me even more determined to stay by your side. In that moment, I wanted nothing more than to really give your brother and every other boy in River City exactly what I’d promised them.” The music professor placed a finger beneath his wife’s chin and gently lifted her head until she was looking him in the eye. “I wanted nothing more than to build a real life with you… _and_ a family.”

Instead of blushing or turning away, Marian beamed at him, as if she’d been waiting to hear him tell her such things for the longest time. “Harold, when I watched you explain yourself to Winthrop and straighten his rumpled tie, all I could think of was what a terrible shame it was you were going to have to leave River City. Despite being a conman, you were still a much-needed, steadying influence not just on my younger brother, but on Tommy Djilas and all the other fatherless boys in town.” She paused and her smile wavered as her eyes began to glisten with unshed tears, but the happiness in her voice was not diminished as she continued, “I knew in that moment that I could never marry another man. I could never imagine anyone but you being the father of my children.”

Harold goggled at his wife. “You thought that about _me_?” he said, so awed that he was now stammering his words. “A shiftless, no-good scoundrel like me?”

She nodded. “I look forward to the day we have a reason to redecorate the upstairs tower room.”

Now completely speechless, there was nothing Harold could do to indicate his reciprocation of such feelings but pull Marian into a deep and heated kiss. Later, he was never quite sure how he managed to refrain from making love to her right there on that wingback chair, as his dress shirt was even more unbuttoned and her blouse was nearly all the way undone by the time they finally broke their embrace. But somehow, he was able to get his wife to their bedroom before they passed the point of no return – though they both left behind a few articles of clothing on the stairs and the floor of the hallway during their progress.

Fortunately, it was Friday night, so after several hours of _not_ slumbering, they were able to sleep in as late as they wanted to the next morning. As eight, nine, and then ten o’clock ticked by, neither the music professor nor the librarian were inclined to start the day in earnest; there was nothing Harold liked to do better on Saturday mornings than linger in bed with his wife for as long as she allowed it. During the coldest stretches of the Iowan winter, Marian did not open the library on Saturdays in order to save money on heating costs, so she allowed such idleness quite a bit these days – husband and wife had spent nearly every Saturday morning since mid-January wrapped cozily together beneath their goose-down quilt.

Similar to the previous evening, when he had woken up in the music room to find himself ensconced in a blanket courtesy of his wife’s thoughtfulness, Harold found himself mulling over another pleasant dilemma while still in a half doze. Should he gently coax the librarian from her slumber for a “lazy Saturday morning delight” before breakfast, or should he continue to let the wonderful stillness between them stretch a little while longer?

Just as happened last night, the decision was made for the music professor when Marian suddenly shifted in his arms and let out a low giggle.

Harold immediately turned to look at his wife with an inquiring smile. “What’s so funny, my dear?”

Marian gave him a coquettish smile in return. “I was having the most amusing dream, just now.”

The music professor’s grin broadened. “Oh?” he asked, his curiosity piqued. “What was it about?”

A mischievous gleam entered her gaze. “I dreamed it was last summer again, and I was working late at the library. It was a beautiful evening and all the patrons had gone home. I was preparing to close for the night when you and Mr. Cowell showed up and started pestering me to court one of you.”

“That second-rate anvil salesman?” Harold interjected with a guffaw – though he tightened his arms possessively around his wife. “How dare he pester you, even in dreams!”

Marian giggled again. “Both of you were quite persistent – so persistent I couldn’t get a word in edgewise! As I tried to figure out how to make my escape, the fire brigade’s hose cart suddenly appeared before me, and I lost no time in turning the fire hose on the two of you.” She paused for a moment as her mirth got the better of her, before wiping her eyes and continuing, “Mr. Cowell skedaddled immediately, but _you_ followed me home and tried to further impress me by taking a broom and sweeping away the piles of dust and dirt and leaves that had accumulated on Mama’s front walk!”

Harold let out a great, big laugh at that. “Of all the angles I pondered to approach you in those days, I never considered doing menial labor to win your heart!” he marveled. “Did it work?”

The librarian’s smile turned impish once more. “Well, I’m not quite sure,” she coyly demurred. “I _was_ starting to warm up to you and was in the process of pouring you a cool glass of lemonade… but then I woke up before the dream could go any further.”

Even in the midst of his amusement, Harold’s pulse quickened at the alluring note of come-hither flirtation in his wife’s tone. Rolling Marian beneath him, he slid his palm over her breast and lowered his lips to the hollow of her throat. As they had fallen asleep completely unclothed, her response to his ministrations was immediate and impassioned: She let out the most delicious moan and arched into her husband.

“If your dream had gone on, we’d have ended up just like this,” he whispered in between soft, open-mouthed kisses, tracing his fingers down her side until his hand came to rest on her hip.

“Is that so, _Mister_ Hill?” she asked in a throaty voice, even as her own fingers threaded through his mussed curls.

Harold merely raised his head to grin at his wife – and then stroked a small spot on her hip he knew to be extremely sensitive. Exactly as he predicted, Marian shivered, let out another delectable moan, and curled her body even closer to his. The music professor would have reveled in his victory with a triumphant chuckle, but when the librarian’s warm thigh grazed his groin, he was also overtaken by an intense wave of desire, and let out a groan as his own hips surged involuntarily against hers. “ _Marian_ … ” he murmured, just as helpless against her charms as she was against his.

However, despite the urging of his carnal inclinations, Harold was still too curious to let the conversation end just yet. “Did you ever dream about us making love?” he asked his wife, even as he slid closer and closer to entering her as they continued to rock back and forth in each other’s arms. He’d meant to pause to give Marian time to answer, but the words came tumbling out before he could stop them: “I dreamed of us together like this all the time, right from the first few days you came into my life.”

Although the librarian’s eyes widened slightly and she stilled in his embrace, her expression was one of sweetly flattered surprise rather than scandalized affront. “You dreamed of us making love, just like this?” she asked, awed. But then a shrewd gleam entered her gaze and she raised an eyebrow at him. “Were we truly making love in those dreams – or simply engaging in frantic tumbles in between the sheets?”

While Harold grinned at his wife’s perceptiveness, he wasn’t about to let her change the subject – though his slip-up had greatly assisted her in derailing the conversation. Leaning in to press a warm kiss to her delicious crimson lips, he said in a tone laced with ardent promise, “I’ll answer your question if you answer mine, my dear little librarian.”

When Marian’s expression grew pensive and a charged silence fell between them, Harold knew without a doubt that the answer was yes. Even though he could easily have surmised that was the case – it would have been more astonishing if a woman as passionate as she _hadn’t_ had at least one heated dream about the man she loved – his heart began to race faster at this confirmation of his suspicions. When had she had such dreams? And what kind of lover had she dreamed he would be? Although the music professor knew from his own experience that his behavior in her dreams was likely to be far more indicative of the librarian’s preconceptions of him rather than his true nature, he fervently hoped his dream-self had not been a complete and unfeeling cad to her.

As much as he wanted to ask these questions – or, at the very least, reassure his wife he would not take offense no matter what she had to say – Harold remained quiet, waiting and watching Marian as she reflected just what she was ready to divulge to him about the innermost reveries of her subconscious. But when the silence continued to grow as the minutes passed, his heart sank. Harold ruefully wondered if perhaps he was asking too much of the librarian…

Before the former Casanova could so much as open his mouth to concede defeat, Marian seemed to surmise his inner turmoil; her expression turned affectionate and she raised her hand to gently cup his cheek. “It’s not that I didn’t dream of making love to you,” she assured him. “It’s just that – I’m not quite sure how to articulate just what happened in those dreams.” She lowered her gaze as her cheeks crimsoned. “I had no practical knowledge of so much as kissing before you came into my life, Harold. When I matured from girlhood into womanhood and began to receive a good deal of attention from the boys, Papa cautioned me never to let my head be turned merely by compliments regarding my appearance. Sadly, he was right to be concerned. Not one of the young men who pursued me back in Cincinnati or here in River City cared about _me_ ; they were beguiled by my outer trappings. So I never allowed any youth to get too close… and, as you know, the one man I did fall in love with never reciprocated my feelings.” The librarian paused and swallowed before looking her husband in the eyes again. “No man has ever embraced me the way you did, holding me not only as if you wanted to have me all to yourself, but also as if you wished for nothing more than to shield me from any sorrow and pain and wickedness that might trouble me.”

Startlingly, Harold found he wasn’t quite sure what to say in response to his wife’s earnest confession of her inexperience. Although it had been entirely to his benefit that every other man who’d come before him was far too foolish to recognize the true worth of this gem of a lady, it made his heart ache to hear that his dear little librarian had never enjoyed so much as a carefree teenage romance. While Harold had been an unrepentant conman for a good deal of his life, he’d always fiercely protected those few people he genuinely loved, so he could easily understand why Mr. Paroo deemed it prudent to safeguard his beautiful daughter’s virtue from callow fellows. But given the years of loneliness the librarian subsequently endured as a result of this counsel, he wondered if the patriarch had done a little bit _too_ good of a job instilling wariness of the opposite sex. Because while Harold’s previous dalliances as a conman were tinged with dishonesty and cynicism, some of his sweetest memories were of his trysts as a teenager and honest salesman – even though none of those liaisons had led to anything lasting.

There was never a time in Harold’s life that he did not fancy the fairer sex, and one of the first things he mastered when he was old enough to woo in earnest was how to properly kiss a girl. As a handsome and charming youth, he’d had several opportunities to experiment with canoodling in high school. But it wasn’t until he left home and embarked on his traveling sales career that he crossed the final threshold and seduced a young and comely widow after he’d finished selling her a timepiece for her mantle. Though Harold couldn’t remember her name, he would never forget her soft, red-brown hair or wide, sea-green eyes – which widened even more in surprise when she realized that she was his first lover. Fortunately, she was a kind-hearted woman who was more than willing to overlook any artlessness arising from his inexperience and teach him what she knew and, as a result, he’d added quite a few maneuvers to his repertoire that day.

However, the more women Harold bedded, the more canoodling became merely a means to an end. After he became a conman in earnest, he only employed extensive kissing with the gals he was conning. Often, this was more than enough to win a small-town gal over, and he could then decide solely at the discretion of his carnal inclinations if he wanted to take things any further with his latest conquest. Sadder-but-wiser females tended to be distrustful of too much idle canoodling, preferring instead to cut to the chase. Being a man of the world, Harold had shared their viewpoint. As he grew older, he found it less and less exciting to kiss an inexperienced woman and did not purposely do so unless it was necessary as part of a con. In his leisure time, he much preferred to share his bed with a woman who knew what she was doing.

Which is why kissing Marian on the footbridge that hot summer night had been such a jolt to his senses. Not since his youth had the conman experienced such an electric thrill from mere canoodling. Their embrace had been passionate but by no means was it a prelude to a roll in the hay; if Harold hadn’t already believed the librarian was telling the truth about the nature of her relationship with “Uncle” Maddy, her warm but close-mouthed kisses definitively confirmed she was no sadder-but-wiser girl.

Given what the music professor eventually learned of his beloved’s prior history, he suspected there might have been a few men who took the liberty of pressing an unwanted kiss or two against her lovely crimson lips in the past – after all, he himself had brazenly pecked her cheek while serenading her in the library as an unrepentant scoundrel. But even so, he remained staunchly convinced that he was the first man whose kisses she’d returned wholeheartedly, if a bit timidly at first when they began to court in earnest. However, Harold was head-over-heels in love with Marian, and he was not at all turned off by her maidenly reticence. Instead, he downright relished the way she slowly blossomed beneath his gentle tutelage over the next several weeks and months, and it wasn’t long before she kissed him as boldly and confidently as he kissed her.

Thinking it best not to pry any further lest he dredge up painful memories and spoil the promising prelude between them – and taking comfort in the fact that despite being accosted by other men in the past, the librarian welcomed his most intimate caresses with joy – Harold decided to drop the matter. “Marian, I _do_ want to protect you from any sorrow and pain and wickedness that might trouble you. I’ve wanted that from the first time we kissed on the footbridge.” He smiled – not his usual incandescent grin, but the unassuming rictus only he only ever showed to those scant few people he trusted – and tightened his arms around his wife.

“Until I met you, I never knew how exhilarating it was to love a woman unselfishly; to risk everything to be with the woman I loved. I never knew what it felt like to make love to a woman who’d gotten under my skin and knew my heart and soul long before we’d removed a single stitch of each other’s clothing.” Harold’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Marian… you’re the only woman I’ve ever let into my heart and soul. You’re the only woman I ever will.”

There was a pregnant pause between the two of them after the music professor finished speaking, but he knew from the way that the librarian’s eyes were glistening that, even lacking his usual finesse, he had explained himself both perfectly and appropriately. But his heart still constricted when she blinked and a few tears escaped. However, when Harold bent down to brush away those tears with his lips, Marian turned her head and caught his mouth in a tender kiss – which gradually deepened until husband and wife were moaning and trembling and clinging even tighter to each other beneath the blankets.

Although the music professor would have happily – and wordlessly – spent the rest of the morning entwined with the librarian in their cozy little cocoon, it turned out she had more to say.

“Oh, Harold,” Marian gasped when their lips finally parted and he moved his mouth to her neck to give her sweet but heated love-bites, “I _do_ have detailed memories of one dream I had about you, before we married… ”

In the process of nudging his thigh between hers so he could make love to her in earnest, Harold immediately halted his advances, and his head jerked up to look at his wife. Riveted by her faraway, heavy-lidded gaze, he remained motionless in her arms as she began to recall her dream…

XXX

During their passionate but proper courtship, Marian’s dreams of lovemaking were hazy and imprecise, and tended to favor two circumstances. One was finding herself skin to skin with Harold when he slipped into her bed late at night, his hands and lips everywhere on her naked body as he made her melt beneath his touch. The other was the music professor whisking her to a quiet nook in the library and kissing the breath out of her as they writhed frantically together in each other’s arms. Yet as vivid as such trysts seemed at the time of their occurrence, the librarian lacked the framework of practical experience, so she could never recall these dreams in detail upon waking; nor could she be sure if she’d simply been dreaming of heated canoodling rather than actual lovemaking. As much as she wanted Harold, she could not know exactly what having him entailed – knowledge she was both eager and nervous to learn.

Marian finally started to get a better idea of the mechanics of lovemaking when, the night before the Halloween masque, Harold crushed her against him as he kissed her goodnight at her front gate. For the first time, there was absolutely no space between their hips, and she felt the unmistakable evidence of his arousal against her thigh as he tightened his arms around her waist and deepened their kiss even more. Suddenly, her damp drawers made sense, as did the swollen ache in her most intimate places – her body was waiting for him to press even further forward, instinctively recognizing love at its most primal, yearning for what her mind couldn’t wholly fathom. Though she had only ever experienced these feelings for the music professor, the librarian knew this was a desire that was old as humanity itself. Lost in instinct and need, Marian clung to the man she loved and longed for, melting into his embrace, all the while wishing her skirts weren’t so voluminous so she could feel him against her all the better. And from the frustrated groan that Harold let out as he pressed his hips even more urgently against hers, she knew he wished the exact same thing.

But when her mother interrupted them, the librarian was extremely grateful for the trappings of civilization, the layers upon layers of petticoats that hid the evidence of how much she wanted Harold, and the thick tweed pants and long suit-coat that concealed the flagrancy of his desire for her. However, from the deep and disapproving frown the matron was giving the two of them, Marian was certain her worldly-wise mother knew, or could certainly guess, precisely what physical effects their embrace had provoked. Although the two of them were both fully clothed, Marian had never felt so exposed. Her poise completely shattered, she blushed and trembled openly as Harold apologized to both her and her mother for his unseemly conduct. Yet her heart also thumped with a queer sense of exhilaration when she felt the music professor tighten his arm both protectively and possessively around her waist, as if he longed to shield her from disgrace even as he yearned to crush her to him again. But Harold soon caught himself and let go of her, bidding a hasty farewell and retreating down the street.

Left alone with her mother, Marian expected a stern lecture on the importance of preserving her virtue for her husband alone. Although the matron was not at all averse to giving a courting couple the privacy they needed to get better acquainted, even her broad-minded sensibilities could not favorably countenance her daughter allowing such wanton liberties from a suitor to whom she was not officially or even implicitly engaged. Yet even as she frowned crossly at Marian, there was also a glimmer of pensive wistfulness in Mrs. Paroo’s visage as well, as if she was finding it a bit harder than she anticipated to see her beloved daughter relinquishing her maidenhood, even if only in spirit. Marian’s heart tightened at her mother’s dismay, and she wanted, childishly, to reassure her that this was the first time she and Harold had ever gotten so carried away, and that it would be their last. At least, until they were married. _If_ they ever married. While the librarian knew the womanizing conman turned legitimate music professor truly loved her, she also realized he wasn’t yet ready for such a permanent course of action. And perhaps he never would be…

But despite her uncertainty as to whether she would ever end up becoming Mrs. Harold Hill, Marian knew she no longer had it in her to make those kinds of promises. She couldn’t even vouch for the sanctity of their previous embraces, as she had permitted Harold to give her a love-bite in his office and openly invited him to lay his head in her lap while they were alone together at the faraway field. So the librarian guiltily avoided meeting her mother’s disapproving gaze as the matron guided her upstairs and helped extricate her from the tight bodice of her Marie Antoinette costume.

Marian should have been disgusted or at least alarmed by her willingness to succumb to passion so easily, but somehow, she couldn’t drum up the necessary indignation. Against all sense and reason, she still trusted Harold, believing that despite his blunder this evening, he would eventually do right by her. It was naïve and downright dangerous to feel this way, but she couldn’t shake her stubborn sense of optimism about the music professor’s intentions. When she realized her mother was frowning at the way she gazed dreamily at her own reflection in the vanity mirror, the librarian actually had to stifle a giggle. But the librarian’s expression soon turned dutifully repentant; she knew perfectly well how foolish she was being, even if she couldn’t help her delight. At that, Mrs. Paroo let out a resigned sigh and kissed her goodnight. Even as Marian felt another twinge of remorse at putting her poor mother through such worry, she couldn’t help being selfishly relieved that, at long last, she could be left alone to relive Harold’s heated embrace in her fevered thoughts. Perhaps self-recrimination would come in the morning…

Instead, what came to Marian was a dream. She was back on the front porch with Harold, wearing her Marie Antoinette costume and wholly lost in his kiss. When her mother interrupted them, Harold apologized and promised he would say goodnight immediately, just as soon as he finished escorting Marian upstairs to her bedroom and getting her settled for the night. In reality, this would have been an outrageous course of action, but as is the whimsical nature of dreams, it turned out to be the perfect thing to say; at Harold’s reassurance, Mrs. Paroo brightened and retreated to the parlor. Once the librarian and music professor had crossed the threshold of her bedroom, Marian noticed Harold was no longer wearing his regular work-a-day suit. Instead, he now had on his full Louis XVI costume – complete with mask. But this sudden costume change did not seem out of the ordinary.

When Harold turned her around and began to unlace her bodice, Marian forgot all about what _he_ was wearing. Shivering in delight when his nimble fingers brushed her back in the course of their ministrations, she closed her eyes and leaned back into the music professor as he eased her out of her Marie Antoinette gown. As he slowly undressed her, she continued to sigh in unabashed pleasure; in addition to being captivated by Harold’s hands moving so gently and intimately over her curves, she was also relieved to finally be set free from such a constricting ensemble!

Once Marian was down to nothing but her camisole and drawers – either her boots and stockings had disappeared of their own accord, or she was so lost in the loveliness of the moment that she couldn’t remember the details of Harold divesting her of those items – she turned to face her beloved. Her heart flip-flopped and her stomach fluttered when she saw the ardent look blazing in the music professor’s eyes as he took the sight of her in, and the librarian commended herself for having had the foresight to don her prettiest lingerie for this occasion.

Although Marian knew the proper protocol was for Harold to continue undressing her until she was completely bare – yet another notion that would have been ludicrous in reality but made perfect sense in a dream – she decided to do something a little different. After removing her gold-painted eye mask and tossing it aside, she reached for Harold’s cravat.

“Now you,” she said softly.

Harold gazed at her in mild surprise, but he nodded and let her proceed. It was a minor breach of etiquette, but not at all unacceptable. So with the same measured, erotic precision, Marian worked the music professor out of each of his garments. As she undressed him, her eyes explored the distinctly and alluringly masculine contours of his body just as avidly as her hands did, noting the subtle but well-defined musculature of his arms, the soft, dark hair blanketing his chest, the sturdy shapeliness of his thighs and calves. Harold Hill was a gorgeous specimen of masculinity.

However, as eager as Marian was to see the entirety of the man she loved and longed for, she could not bring herself to remove Harold’s union suit. When her hands came to the front of his drawers and she felt his arousal through the thin fabric, she grew so giddy with nervousness and excitement that she found herself in danger of swooning if she went any further.

Ever the gallant, Harold removed his mask and placed his steady hands on her waist. “Look at _me_ , darling,” he gently reminded her.

Marian’s eyes met his, and she was reassured somewhat by the loving affection in the music professor’s gaze. But she still couldn’t stop trembling, nor could she prod her useless, wooden fingers into further action.

“Now what?” she whispered.

However, Harold looked just as transfixed and uncertain as she presently felt; apparently, he didn’t know how best to proceed, either. The librarian’s heart sank and her stomach began to churn unpleasantly – she should never have abandoned the proper protocol in the first place!

Suddenly, Marian heard faint strains of Beethoven’s _Minuet in G_ floating up from the parlor. The awkward mood evaporated as the couple shared an amused smile – once again, Mrs. Paroo was not so subtly playing matchmaker.

But it was just the nudge they both needed to recover their clarity of purpose. With his trademark grin, Harold tightened his arms around Marian’s waist and pulled her to him until their hips were pressed together. Then he whirled her around the bedroom in a complicated series of steps. As he led her in this intricate dance, the librarian was keenly aware of just how alarmingly the furniture, lamps and ornaments tottered around them. But her eyes remained firmly locked with Harold’s, and they somehow managed to avoid stumbling into catastrophe – though there were several close calls.

When the music came to an end, Harold brought her to a standstill and looked both calmly and expectantly at Marian. Having removed her gown and danced with her, his role in this affair was now complete. The next and final step was for the librarian to bid the music professor a formal farewell and relinquish his embrace.

“Marian, it’s time to say goodnight to Professor Hill!” her mother prompted helpfully from the parlor.

The librarian opened her mouth to do just that, but she was suddenly seized with an intense and irrational paroxysm of fear that rendered her speechless. Despite the seemingly sage counsels of both propriety and decency – Harold hadn’t made her any promises, proposals, or even declarations of love while he undressed and danced with her – Marian knew deep down that if she let the music professor go now, she would lose him forever.

“ _No_ ,” she moaned in a low voice, and pulled him to bed with her.

Marian fully expected her mother to burst into the room and put a stop to such brazenness – or, at the very least, to issue a shrill scolding that would ring throughout the entire house and spoil the mood entirely. But there was only silence as Harold let out a long, relieved sigh, and covered her mouth with his. And then he was touching her everywhere, his warm hands making her shiver and moan as they roamed over her breasts, waist, hips and backside.

Indeed, it had all been an elaborate test, and Marian had passed with flying colors. Without shame or fear, she wrapped her legs around Harold’s waist, arching encouragingly against him when he groaned and thrust forward, his hardness sliding up her thigh and into far more intimate areas. She expected to feel pain as he entered her, but when they came together and began to make love, she felt nothing but the same exhilarating yet nebulous haze of pleasure she had experienced in her previous dreams.

Previous _dreams_ …

Realization fully dawning at last, Marian jolted awake, her delight fading into disappointment when she found herself alone in her narrow, spinster bed, Harold’s heated kisses still searing her lips and that all-too-familiar, unfulfilled ache of desire still gnawing at the pit of her stomach.

XXX

Normally, Harold would have lost no time in ravishing his wife after she revealed such heated recollections of experiencing the same intense and, at times, unbearable longing he’d felt while waiting for her. But even when Marian paused to gauge his reaction to her tale with a look that was shy but ardent – leaving absolutely no question as to what she wanted from him now – he still hesitated to succumb to his carnal inclinations just yet. As much as Harold wanted to make sweet and passionate love to his wife, Marian had bared her soul to him, and he felt not just an obligation, but also a genuine yearning to reciprocate in kind.

But even as the music professor began, rather awkwardly, to explain his emotions to the librarian, he couldn’t help wondering if it was really wise for him to reveal the onslaught of desire he’d experienced the evening before the Halloween masque. That night, Harold had felt off balance and ill at ease before he even left his house. The engagement ring he’d been carrying around for the past few weeks was burning a hole in his pocket; he almost wished he’d left it at home. The beleaguered music professor wasn’t sure he could trust himself not to give the game away and propose prematurely, and when he saw the librarian in her alluring Marie Antoinette costume, he wished even more that he’d refrained from carrying the diamond solitaire in his pocket on that particular occasion. And watching the way the librarian’s hips swayed as she danced the minuet further eroded his tenuous composure.

However, even though Marian presented an enticing tableau of barely restrained sensuality, it wasn’t just the way the bodice and gown hugged her curves that got Harold all riled up, it was also the way she looked at him whenever they met in a handclasp. Her countenance was an intoxicating mixture of innocence and hunger, her sweet come-hither eyes lacking the guile of the experienced woman but seducing him all the same. The dance the two of them were doing may have appeared stately enough to outside observers like Ethel Toffelmier, who was running the player piano for them, but Harold felt his body respond as intensely if Marian’s hips were undulating against his in a frenzied and passionate tango. Yet as much as he wanted the librarian, and as much as he wanted to declare to both her and the world that he intended to make her his, he refused to take the ring out of his pocket. He didn’t want to propose to Marian this way, half-crazed with lust and two seconds away from whisking her to a dark corner of the gymnasium so he could crush the full length of her warm and wanting body against his.

But after four long months of virtuous courtship, his carnal inclinations had just about enough of that kind of high-flying, self-sacrificing nobility. As the music professor walked the librarian home that night, letting her sweet voice wash over him like a soothing balm as she chattered nervously to fill the dangerously charged silence between them, he couldn’t respond with even the merest of pleasantries, lest the hoarseness of his voice betray the agonizing tightness of his trousers. Although Harold brought Marian to a halt at her front gate instead of leading her all the way up to the front door, he could no longer thwart his baser urges – especially when the woman he loved gazed at him with those bewitching eyes of hers, as if they were the only two people who existed in the world. Forgetting where they were and who might see them, he crushed her to him, kissing her breathless and pulling her even tighter against him when she started to swoon. If Marian had resisted his advances even one iota, Harold would have backed down and issued an apology, but she opened herself fully to his kiss and melted into his embrace as if she’d been struggling with the same sense of frustrated longing all these months.

Who knows what else they would have done, how far they would have gone, if Mrs. Paroo hadn’t interrupted them. As Harold moved away from Marian and rational thought returned, he came very close to loathing himself, the way he had when he’d accidentally given the librarian that love-bite in the emporium. However, even though her mother was glowering at him, Marian’s expression was anything but contemptuous. Even as her cheeks blushed hotly crimson in the face of their being discovered, she was still regarding the music professor with intense longing in her eyes, wanting just as much as he did to continue what they had just started. And damn him, he almost pulled her close again. Fortunately, he managed to quell that imprudent impulse long enough to stumble an apology to both the librarian and her mother, and then fled the premises before he could get the woman he loved into any more hot water.

Although Harold’s house was only a few streets away, the walk home felt excruciatingly long. Despite his emotional discomfort, and despite his assiduously avoiding conscious thought of Marian in her Marie Antoinette gown, his trousers remained insufferably tight the whole way home. Luckily, he didn’t meet any passerby, and the moment he was safely behind closed doors, he lost no time in scratching that itch. Afterward, he fell into an exhausted but uneasy doze that was filled with unsettling dreams of helplessly watching Marian drown in yards and yards of sky-blue brocade even as he tried to pull her to safety, diamond rings that shattered and sliced Marian’s alabaster hand to ribbons when he attempted to slip them on her finger, and kissable crimson lips that parted to welcome his tongue but crumpled to ash before he could properly claim them.

But as tormented as his conscience was, Harold woke up just as hot for Marian as he’d been the night before. This time he went slower, allowing himself to imagine the librarian lying supine on his bed in her alluring Marie Antoinette ensemble, eagerly pulling his hand down to touch her, even as he lifted the hems of her skirts to do just that. Their eyes would lock in a heated gaze as he gently guided his fingers in and out of her slick, velvety wetness, steadily accustoming her to lovemaking and sweetly building her pleasure until her head rolled back and she let out a loud, throaty moan.

Harold meant to go a lot further in this fantasy, to picture himself undressing her fully and making love to her, but the image of Marian in the throes of ecstasy soon finished him. And when he was done, he felt that disquieting sense of self-recrimination descend once more. _He_ might have woken up just as bothered as he’d been the night before, but what had morning done to Marian’s frame of mind? Hastening out of bed, Harold washed, shaved, ran a comb through his disheveled curls, threw on the first clean suit he could lay his hands on, and set off to find out. Today, though, he left the ring behind. Although he was itching to carry it with him as he always did, it was too dangerous to take that chance. It was still just a mite too soon for him to propose; even if Marian was in an amenable mood to welcome such overtures, he didn’t want her to think his proposal was prompted by a sense of dutiful remorse.

After an hour of lingering just outside of sight of the Paroo homestead, Harold got his answer when Marian finally rounded the corner, singing joyfully as she strolled along. When the music professor saw his beloved’s dreamy, beaming expression, his distress came to a swift end. Not only did the librarian regard him with a sweet, ardent look that made both his heart and stomach flip-flop with elation, she actually flirted with him, even as she wryly remarked on her mother’s continued displeasure over the events of the previous evening. Marian’s desire had finally caught up to her heart. She was _ready_ for this. She was ready for him.

And Harold Hill was ready to make it official between them. Tonight, he would propose to Marian Rose Paroo. Just as he’d been planning to do all along…

XXX

With a start, Harold trailed off in recounting his recollections, realizing that he had just told Marian everything. _Again._ Although they were still lying together unclothed, he felt nakeder than naked; baring too much of one’s soul too quickly could prove just as damaging to intimacy as baring too little too late. Their marriage wasn’t even three months old yet and, given the vast discrepancy of their experiences, he was going to frighten or disgust his wife with the intensity of his ardor, if he continued to be so careless in these impromptu pillow-talk confessions. He ought to have kept his damn mouth shut and simply made love to the librarian after she’d finished telling him about her dream.

But to the music professor’s delight, Marian wasn’t scandalized or taken aback by what he’d had to say. Instead, she pulled her husband even closer and buried her face in the crook of his neck. “Oh, Harold,” she breathed, sounding close to tears of joy. And then she was pressing kisses against his throat and all along the line of his jaw; warm, wet, open-mouthed kisses that made him shiver and groan and nudge his thigh in between hers as his desire built to a fever pitch once more. Wordlessly, Marian opened her legs to him, sighing and then moaning when his mouth found her neck for a love-bite as he slid into her, both of them fully relishing the knowledge they’d struggled and strived so hard to attain.

Harold resolved that eventually, when the time was ripe, he would tell his wife about his other previous dreams. _All_ of them.


End file.
